


The Ghost Must Die

by Ariana (ariana_paris)



Category: Blake's 7, Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased) (2000)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-04-15
Updated: 2000-04-15
Packaged: 2017-11-03 17:39:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/384106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariana_paris/pseuds/Ariana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake's enemy Travis has stolen the computer Orac and used it to go back in time. His plan is to change the timeline by ensuring that the ancestor of one of Blake's greatest assets ceases to exist. Blake and Avon have to work with the Randall and Hopkirk detective agency to thwart his plans as their present -  Jeff and Jeannie's future - continues to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This story is copyright 2000 by the author.  
> Blake's 7 and Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased) are the property of their respective owners.  
> The author wishes to thank Murray Smith and Harriet Monkhouse for their invaluable help.
> 
>  **Author's note (2012):** First published in 2000. Years on, I still have no idea why I wrote this particular crossover, except that both shows were on television at the time, I was mainly writing R &H 2000 stories and I wanted to try my hand at Blake's 7. Amazingly, though, it does have a plot that holds together and I can tell I had fun writing some of the dialogue. It was unfortunately the only attempt at a Blake's 7 story I started that actually saw the light of day!

**I.**

Avon looked around at the street where he and Blake had materialised. They were standing on some kind of elevated walkway in a dingy alley. The walkway was bordered by a building on one side, and a metal railing on the other. Avon eyed the gleaming vehicles parked below with contempt. The street was littered with bits of paper and food. So this was the 20th century, the Early Space Age. Even the Federation had better hygiene than these people. He coughed. It was a bright sunny day; the air smelled of pollen and petrol fumes.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Blake?" he asked.

"You of all people should know that we have to get Orac back," said Blake, who was reading the posters stuck to the building's walls. "There's no telling what Travis could do with Orac in his possession. We must stop him before it's too late."

"I do wonder what he's planning to do with Orac this far back in our past."

"I'm surprised he can do anything," said Blake pensively. "I wasn't aware that Orac knew how to initiate time travel."

"Neither was I," said Avon with a shrug. "There's a lot we don't know about that computer. For that matter, I was surprised to discover that Zen was able to modify the teleport so rapidly. As to Travis's intentions; who knows what is going on in his mind? He is quite insane, after all. And he has an unhealthy fixation on you."

"Yes... Perhaps he's hoping to erase me from history by killing one of my ancestors."

Avon lifted an eyebrow. "Now, why didn't I think of that?"

"I hope Zen's calculations were correct," continued Blake. "Orac's last message wasn't exactly helpful."

"Yes, it would be very embarrassing if Zen had miscalculated by, say, a year or two. We might return back to our own time and discover that neither of us ever existed."

"Surely that isn't possible," said Blake sensibly. "If we had been erased from history, then we couldn't be standing here having this conversation. On the other hand, that would also mean Travis would have had no motive to go back and change history. So history wouldn't have been changed, and we would still exist."

"Well, you're the one who insisted we go time-travelling," said Avon, though he hadn't really been listening. "At least we know one thing. We can't be sure if Zen dropped us off the day of Travis's arrival as instructed, but at least we know he put us in the right place."

He pointed to the intercom buttons beside the nearest door.

One of them read 'RANDALL  & HOPKIRK -- DETECTIVE AGENCY'.

* * *

"Well, I doubt my Aunt Millie will be in a hurry to see us again," Jeannie was saying as she drove back to the agency.

"I said I was sorry," mumbled Jeff ruefully. "That was a stupid place to put a garden gnome, anyway."

Jeannie didn't say anything. Jeff sat down low in the passenger seat and wished he was dead. Well, no, he didn't. Considering all the adventures Marty had been through since he died, Jeff was rather pleased he was alive. That thought cheered him up a little.

"Still, Auntie Millie can be a handful at times," said Jeannie more gently. "And she's obsessed with matchmaking; I'm amazed my cousin Ruby held out as long as she has. Millie keeps saying she's worried about me because it's been a year since Marty died and I'm not going out with anyone."

There was a flash in the corner of Jeff's eye and Marty materialised, sprawled on the back seat in his immaculate white suit.

"I should hope she isn't going out with anyone! I've barely been dead a year," he exclaimed.

"Oh, so I was a decoy, was I?" Jeff said to Jeannie. He was getting quite good at ignoring his partner the ghost.

"Something like that," admitted Jeannie, glancing at him before returning her attention to the road. "I hope you don't mind. I was afraid Millie would think I was turning into some sad old maid if I turned up alone at her daughter's wedding. Pity about the wedding cake, though..."

"That was an accident!"

"...and, of course, the bride's dress."

"That was an accident too," said Jeff in a little voice.

He looked at Jeannie to try and read her expression. She didn't look too angry. In fact, her lips seemed to be twitching. She glanced at him and guffawed. Jeff laughed as well.

"Could someone let me in on the joke?" asked Marty, who was now sitting up and paying attention. "I missed that bit."

Jeff was too wrapped up in his laugh with Jeannie to do more than shake his head at the ghost. Marty made a face and crossed his arms like a petulant child.

"I promise I won't trip over anything at the next wedding you take me to," Jeff told Jeannie solemnly.

"I'm not sure I'll take you anywhere ever again!" she laughed. "But, oh, it was good to see my cousin Ruby taken down a peg or two. She used to be perfectly insufferable when we all went to Granny's as children."

"Oh, well, I'm sorry I didn't kick Ruby into the pond after all," he said. "I'm sure I could have found another garden gnome to trip over."

Jeannie smiled at him gratefully. "I had a really good time. You're a good friend, Jeff." She reached out to pat his hand.

"'You're a good friend, Jeff'," whined Marty, before blowing a disgusted raspberry. "Things are certainly cosy these days."

"We're just friends," Jeff told him patiently.

Jeannie removed her hand and nodded. "Oh, yes, we're just friends. I know that."

Casting one last wistful glance at Jeannie, Jeff turned his attention to the wing mirror beside him. The wind blowing through the convertible had ruffled his hair. He smoothed it, noting with sorrow that there was far less of it than there had once been. He glanced at Jeannie again and sighed. Such a vision of loveliness couldn't ever be seriously interested in a balding twerp like him.

* * *

"Well, this should be a good time, with Avon and Blake gone," said Vila. He put his feet on the console in front of him and leaned back as far as the _Liberator_ 's flight deck chairs would allow.

Cally observed his dirty sneakers with distaste. "Perhaps you could improve the shining hour by looking for some new shoes."

"Oh, he can't do that," said Jenna with a laugh. "That would constitute work."

Vila took his feet off the console and made a face. "Great. Blake and Avon have abandoned me to the women. I'm going to get henpecked to death."

"Very amusing," said Cally. "Now you can go and change your shoes."

"Why should I?" challenged Vila half-heartedly.

"Because there's two of us and one of you," said Jenna.

"Does Zen get a vote?" asked Vila. "No, I suppose not..."

He sighed and headed reluctantly for the door, shuffling his feet. He had no sooner reached it than the scene suddenly changed. 

Vila vanished and two different crewmembers appeared on the flight deck. The room was no longer a neat, orderly place, with every circuit and panel impeccably arranged. Instead, there were wires everywhere, and the lights were dimmed. A klaxon was ringing while Jenna tried to manoeuvre the _Liberator_ out of the trap it had drifted into in this reality. Nova was frantically trying to get Zen's main systems back online, while Brenn was sulking, his bad mood affecting everyone on the flight deck. The ambience was sour and filled with fear.

Cally fired one parting shot as Jenna finally outran the Federation ships. She wiped her sweaty hands on her shirt. Brenn had never been able to adjust the environmental controls; the door to the control room was locked and they hadn't yet managed to get it open. Every time they tried to blast their way through it, some kind of repair system undid the damage before they could get in.

"This is getting too close," she said. "Next time, they'll get us."

"Not unless Blake can stop them," said Jenna loyally. "He'll get Orac back from that nut Travis."

"He chose a bloody bad time to go time-travelling," snapped Brenn.

Cally shook her head gently. It wasn't as if anyone on the ship really understood how Orac worked. Even if Blake could bring it back from the past, it was doubtful they would be able to evade the Federation for much longer.

There was a pinging noise and Zen suddenly came to life. All the crew turned to look at the computer with apprehension. Zen didn't usually volunteer information which wasn't bad news.

"Attention. As instructed, timeline has been monitored. Quantum fluctuations in the timestream indicate that an artificial time loop has been initiated. Divergence point is in the year 2001."

"What the hell are we supposed to do about that?" asked Jenna.

"Advise that one of your crew return to that period to warn Blake of the changes and attempt to break the loop. Natural timeline must be restored."

* * *

Jeannie drew up opposite the agency. Glancing at the back seat, Jeff was relieved to find that Marty had gone. It wasn't that he didn't like having his best friend around, even as a ghost, but there were times when he wished he could have more privacy. Marty had a bad habit of appearing when he was in the loo or having a private conversation with Jeannie.

"Thanks for dropping me off," said Jeff, getting out of the car. "I really must ring the garage and find out what's up with my car."

He heard Marty's voice beside him. "You don't take care of it, that's what's up with our car!" The ghost had disappeared again by the time Jeff turned towards him.

Jeannie looked up at him and smiled. "Why don't I drive you home, Jeff? It's no bother."

"Oh, right," said Jeff. "Okay. I'll... I'll just pop upstairs and get the papers for the Anselmo case. I need to have a look at them... You know, since we've actually got a paying customer and everything... um, I'll be right back."

Jeff hastened over the street to Cope House. He trotted up the stairs to the agency, his heart beating fast from more than the physical effort. Jeannie was going to drive him home. He wondered if he could invite her in for coffee when she dropped him off. Just in a friendly way, of course, nothing romantic... not that he'd have much choice with Jeannie's late fiancé haunting him. But at least it might be an opportunity to make it up to her after the wedding fiasco.

As he opened the agency door, Jeff didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. But he did once the door slammed behind him and he found himself staring at two men in scruffy clothes. One of them, a mean-looking fellow with a big nose, was pointing some kind of plastic device at him. It looked like a Perspex curling iron, but Jeff decided it was probably a weapon. Either way, the determined look on the chap pointing it at him didn't make him want to find out for sure. He raised his arms meekly and backed up against the wall beside the door.

"Are you Randall or Hopkirk?" asked the brute's companion, a more personable fellow with curly hair.

"R-Randall," said Jeff.

"He reminds me of someone," said the man with the curling iron.

Jeff kept his hands up. "Look, whoever you are, just don't shoot me."

"He definitely reminds me of someone!" The fellow with the big nose smiled, but it just made him look even more mean.

"I'm Blake, and this is Avon," said the curly-haired man. 

"Oh, as in 'Avon calling'?" said Jeff nervously.

Marty appeared beside Blake and gave Jeff a pitying look. He had evidently heard the pathetic joke. Blake and Avon merely looked puzzled.

"We've come from your future and we're looking for a man called Travis," said Blake, unaware that Marty was leaning towards him intently, as if hanging on every word. "We have reason to believe he might have been looking for you. Or your partner."

Marty shook his head and tapped his forehead significantly. Jeff lowered his arms.

"The future?" he said incredulously. "You're taking the mickey, aren't you?"

"I assure you this is the truth," said Blake seriously. "I understand that it's hard to believe. Time travel is extremely rare, even in our time."

Jeff frowned at him, not believing a word of it. Avon turned towards Blake, while still keeping his weapon pointed at the detective.

"Come on, Blake. I told you it was pointless to involve these people in all this. They won't be able to help."

Blake shook his head. "No, wait, Avon. You're a detective, aren't you, Mr Randall?" Jeff nodded. "Perhaps we could employ your services to help us find Travis. We have the means to pay you. Show them, Avon."

Avon did not look pleased, but he reached into the bag he was carrying and pulled out a handful of jewellery. Jeff didn't know much about gems, but the handful looked impressive.

"Well, if you need a detective, then I suppose I should at least consider your case," said Jeff with a polite smile. He half-shrugged in response to Marty's questioning gaze. They needed the money. "If you'll just come into --"

He interrupted himself as the agency door suddenly burst open. It hit Avon straight on, and the man was further incapacitated by a swift kick and hand-chop from Jeannie. With Avon lying on the floor, she spun around to face Blake. He raised his hands in a pacifying gesture and she ceased her attack, slowly relaxing into an upright posture. Avon rubbed his jaw and stood up.

"Randall's guardian angel, I presume," he said sarcastically, though he aimed a definite leer at Jeannie's slim form.

"No, _I'm_ his guardian angel," said Marty.

Jeannie glared at Avon and sidled up to Jeff protectively.

"Jeannie, this is Blake and Avon," explained Jeff. "They have a case for us."

"Oh." Jeannie looked contrite. "I thought they were threatening you."

"We were doing that too," said Avon, casting a disdainful glance at Jeff.

"But we're more interested in finding Travis," added Blake. "If you can help us, we'll be more than happy to pay you. I'm sure this jewellery can easily be changed into currency."

"Yes, no doubt about that." Jeff indicated his office. "Very well, why don't you come in and we can discuss this in a more civilised manner."

In the office, Blake and Avon sat down opposite Jeff, while Jeannie sat on Marty's old desk. Blake was leaning back comfortably in his chair, but Avon sat bolt upright, as if the seat was burning his bottom. Marty was sitting on Jeff's desk.

"You're Hopkirk, I take it," said Blake, looking at Jeannie.

"Not exactly," explained Jeff. "This is my, um, associate, Jeannie Hurst." Jeannie still didn't have an official status in the agency. "My former partner Marty Hopkirk died a year ago, in 2000... That's why the sign on our door says Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased)."

Marty shook his head. "They evidently don't do elementary reading in the 'future'."

"We kept the same agency name as that's how we're known to our clients," continued Jeff. "And besides, we already had all the business cards printed out," he added with a smile.

"And you did it out of respect for your deceased colleague," prompted Marty.

"And we did it out of respect for our deceased colleague," repeated Jeff unenthusiastically.

"Tell us about this Travis," said Jeannie.

Blake got a faraway look in his eyes and bit his nails absentmindedly. "It's a long story. Let's just say that he and I are mortal enemies. We're on opposing sides in a... revolution if you like."

"'Revolution' being a very broad description," interjected Avon. "Travis is an operative of the government we're trying to overthrow."

"A few days ago," continued Blake, "Travis stole one of our computers, Orac. We have reason to believe he used it to travel back in time to this period."

"Why he chose this particular benighted period of history eludes us," said Avon.

"Benighted? This is the twenty-first century," protested Jeff.

Avon smiled. "Precisely."

"Oh, regular bundle of laughs, aren't we?" sneered Marty. The ghost evidently didn't like the admiring glances Avon kept aiming at Jeannie. Jeff didn't like them either.

Jeannie stared at Blake. "Wait a minute. Are you saying you're from the _future_?"

"Yes. Quite far in your future, actually," said Blake. "As Avon said, we're not sure why Travis chose to come back to this particular period in history. Our working theory for the moment is that he's planning to kill one or more of my ancestors. He may have picked this period because it would be easier for him to operate undetected without actually reverting to a non-technological age."

Despite Blake's preposterous story, Jeff was intrigued. "So you want to employ us to find this guy?"

"I doubt you'll be much help," said Avon. "Though someone with your punch, Ms Hurst, can always come in handy." He rubbed his bruised chin with a smirk. "I think we're more interested in finding out why the last transmission we received from Orac was the name and address of your agency."

"I can see why you'd be puzzled," agreed Jeannie. She was observing the pair uncertainly, as if trying to decide whether to believe their impossible story or not.

"It sounds like an interesting case," said Jeff politely, though he shared Jeannie's misgivings. "Would you... mind while I have a word with my colleague?"

"No, do by all means," said Avon. "Have several."

Since neither of their visitors made any move to leave, Jeff indicated that Jeannie should follow him out of the room. Marty whizzed through the wall with a flourish.

"What do you think?" Jeff asked Jeannie.

"I think they're both cuckoo."

"Agreed."

Jeff scratched his ear and looked at the office door. He thought about the gems and the money that could represent.

"They said they'd pay us, though," he said weakly.

"Pay us? Jeff, they think they're from the future. Maybe their 'money' is from the future too. Let's just get rid of them. I think we can do without taking a case for a pair of loonies."

"Yes, you're right, of course." Jeff paused and glanced at Marty. "OK, Jeannie, you go back and talk to them. I'll, um, think about it."

Jeannie lifted a subliminal eyebrow in surprise and then returned to the office.

"I take it 'I'll, um, think about it' means you want _my_ opinion," said Marty with a sly grin.

"Well, all right. What do _you_ think I should do?"

"Get rid of them," answered Marty simply. "Conk and Curly are obviously out of their minds. Time travel? That sounds like science-fiction to me. I don't believe in science-fiction."

"Well, I used not to believe in ghosts."

"That's different. That's fantasy. This is rubbish. Come on, go and tell them to naff off."

* * *

"Well, that wasn't very helpful," remarked Avon half an hour later, as he and Blake selected a park bench to sit on. "That Randall has all the backbone of a worm."

"He reminds me of Vila," said Blake. "I wasn't particularly surprised when they told us they weren't going to help. In fact, considering how unlikely our story must have appeared to them, I'm surprised they didn't call whatever law-enforcement agency they have in this time... Is that good?"

He was pointing to the tub Avon was eating from.

"Divine," admitted Avon, unsure whether he should put on such a display of enthusiasm in front of Blake. "This person Häagen-Dazs makes good ice cream. I'm pleased we found a shop to sell that jewellery. It looks as if we have enough currency to keep us going for a few days." He held out the pot of ice cream. "Want some?"

"No, I have to watch my weight."

There was a pause as the two of them relaxed. Blake bit his nails. Avon wondered if he should say something to further the plot. But it was a nice day, birds were twittering in the trees, and this ice cream was truly delicious. Evidently a recipe that had been lost in the mists of time.

"I wonder if he's Vila's ancestor," said Blake suddenly.

"Who? Randall?"

"Yes."

"Because he's a coward with brown eyes and thinning hair? By that count, Vila would have millions of ancestors."

"Well, of course, strictly speaking, Vila _does_ have millions of ancestors. Thousands of generations' worth."

"Yes, I did work that out for myself, thank you," said Avon irritably. "I suppose if Randall was Vila's ancestor, that might explain why Travis was interested in the Randall and Hopkirk agency. We'd need some corroborating evidence, of course. But I don't really see the point of Travis going through all that trouble just to erase _Vila's_ existence."

"You're right. There must be something else we're missing."

"Exactly."


	2. Chapter 2

**II.**

After Blake and Avon had left, Jeff collected the files he needed to read on the Anselmo case, and Jeannie drove him home as promised. They'd been gone about an hour when there was a commotion in the office toilet. After some crashing about and a fair amount of swearing, a man with an eye-patch came out into the office. He was dressed in a tight leather suit and carried a large box. Travis had expected his dramatic entry to strike fear in the hearts of his audience, but he was disappointed to find the room empty. He opened the box he was carrying and placed a plastic device inside.

"You damn machine! You've brought us to the wrong place!"

Orac didn't exactly sigh, because it had no lungs, but it didn't make any effort to hide the irritation in its voice.

"On the contrary, I have brought you exactly when and where you wanted to be. Though why you had to take _me_ along with you eludes me. They use _silicon chips_ in this time period. I insist that you return me to our time before I become infected with Microsoft Windows!"

"I'll do that to you myself if you don't shut up and cooperate!" snapped Travis, though he had no idea what Orac was talking about. "Now, tell me where to find Randy and Hopscotch, or whatever their names are."

* * *

Marty had originally been planning to follow Jeff and Jeannie back to Jeff's place that evening. He did not like the rapprochement between the two of them; although he was limited in what he could do to separate them, he liked to hang around when they were together. If nothing else, his presence seemed to put the mockers on any amorous advances from Jeff. 

But Marty's plans were thwarted when he received a summons from Wyvern. The ghost reluctantly returned to Limbo, dragging his feet as he made his way to his mentor's office.

"Wyvern?" he called once he was there.

"I'm here," replied the old man.

Marty turned and found Wyvern sitting at a desk. The spirit's expression was serious. 

"Marty, I know I've been leaving you on your own recently, but these are grave times," he said, pointing at the ghost. "There have been two temporal incursions today, both centred on your former office building. Enemies from the future have decided to make the present their battleground."

"You mean Blake and Avon really are from the future?" asked Marty.

Wyvern nodded. "And so is their enemy Travis."

He waved his hand and a television set appeared in mid-air nearby. Marty could see a man in tight leather clothes walking out of Cope House.

"So Macho Man there is the guy Blake and Avon are looking for?"

"They will find him," said Wyvern, "but the presence of all three of them is a disruption to the timeline. It is a terrible thing when humans start to meddle with that which they do not understand. Time travel should be left to specialists.

" _Much woe to the world will befall_  
When men refuse to heed the call  
And meddle with time and all  
Changing that which is rall."

"Rall?" repeated Marty. "R-- oh, _real_. So they're going to change the future? But surely since the future hasn't happened yet, it doesn't matter what they do. They might go back to their own time and find they never existed, but that's tough luck. It doesn't matter to us."

"It does matter, Marty," said Wyvern ominously. He did 'ominous' very well. "It matters to the people from their time, and to all the people in between. Time is not the linear journey you imagine it to be. Everything is related, and the disruptions Travis intends to cause are rippling through history already."

Marty thought about that for a moment, and then decided he didn't get it. "Huh?"

"You must keep an eye on them, Marty," said Wyvern patiently. "Whatever Avon, Blake and Travis will do, it is something momentous enough to change the entire future of the human race. You must inform your friend Randall, so that he can either stop Travis or undo what he changes."

"Bloody hell," said Marty, shaking his head. "I never thought I'd see the day when the future of the human race rested in Jeff's hands!"

* * *

Jeff looked at the bubbling saucepan and wondered if this was such a good idea after all. He had been desperate to keep Jeannie with him after she accepted his offer of a coffee -- well, cup of tea, actually. When she hinted that she was hungry, Jeff had immediately proposed to cook dinner. But of course, being a single man, all he had were packets of Batchelor's noodles and frozen meals for one. A thorough search of various cupboards had revealed that he did have some spaghetti and a jar of Bolognese. Probably just about enough to feed them both. Provided Jeannie didn't mind rounding it off with a packet of crisps.

"I could get us a takeaway if you prefer, Jeannie," he called out from the kitchen area.

"Don't worry, it smells delicious," she answered, coming to lean on the breakfast bar behind him. She indicated the empty takeaway tubs Jeff had tossed aside. "Besides, I think you eat quite enough takeaways as it is. It'll do you good to cook for a change. And I'm absolutely _starving_!"

"Right."

Maybe he could let her have both packets of crisps. But then that wasn't the sort of thing a delicate woman like Jeannie would eat. Her favourite food was probably some kind of salad. Jeff stirred the spaghetti.

"Jeff..."

Jeff stopped stirring the spaghetti and turned to look at her.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking these days," said Jeannie, her large brown eyes fixed on his with earnest determination. "You know... About, well, Marty and how things have changed since he died. Me pretty much working at the agency, you... you and me... well, us working on cases. And I was thinking, it's been a year since Marty died and... I think... well, I think maybe..."

_Oh wow._

Jeannie suddenly smiled with an embarrassed half-shrug. "I think we make a good team. Um, work-wise."

_Damn._

Jeff turned away to open the tin of Bolognese and dump it into a saucepan. By the time he had returned his attention to the spaghetti, they had stuck to the bottom of the pan.

"I also think you're really sweet."

He didn't see her expression when she said that, but he decided not to take the comment too seriously. 'Sweet' had often been a key word in the parting speeches of his past girlfriends. 

"...I've been wondering if you... were going to ask me out."

That was not exactly how Jeff had expected this conversation to turn out. Jeannie's husky voice was neutral, and with his back to her, Jeff couldn't tell whether she viewed him asking her out as a good thing or a bad one. He knew she liked him, but experience had taught him that this wasn't necessarily the first step to romance. Jeff scraped the spaghetti off the bottom of the saucepan and decided to be cautious.

"Well, I don't know, Jeannie," he said slowly. "I mean, as you said, we make a good professional team. Maybe we should concentrate on a good working relationship rather than, well, something that might not work out."

"Oh." There was a pause.

Quite a long pause, actually. Jeff turned around, and found Jeannie looking thoughtful.

"Do you really mean that?" she asked.

"No, not really," he said with a sheepish grin.

Jeff looked at Jeannie. Jeannie pretty much batted her eyelashes at him.

"Oh, come over here, silly," she said.

Jeff did as he was told, coming to stand opposite her. She leaned forward, stopping just a few centimetres from Jeff's face. He leaned on the breakfast bar and smiled what he suspected was a pretty goofy smile. Jeannie didn't seem to mind. He covered the rest of the distance, until he was close enough to breathe in the delicate smell of her lipstick and foundation cream.

Almost simultaneously, a white flash announced Marty's arrival beside him. "Jeff! There's a homicidal maniac from the future on your doorstep!"

"Marty!" exclaimed Jeff, hastily jumping away from Jeannie.

Visibly puzzled, and more than a little miffed, Jeannie automatically followed his gaze and frowned when she saw nothing there.

"Jeff?" she started.

There was a banging at the front door.

"That's him!" said Marty, gesturing frantically at the door. "Wyvern told me all about it. Conk and Curly really are from the future, and that's really Travis looking for your blood!"

The banging continued.

"Jeff, aren't you going to answer it?" asked Jeannie.

"It's Travis," said Jeff. He hesitated and then squared his shoulders resolutely. "I'm going to answer."

"Travis? What, the man Blake and Avon were looking for?" 

Jeannie joined Jeff in the kitchen as he prepared to open the door.

"Don't open," warned Marty. "The man is a complete psycho."

Jeff undid the front lock and was almost immediately swept off his feet. A tall man in a biker's outfit had seized him by the front of his sweater.

"Told you so!" said Marty smugly.

Half the biker's face was covered in some kind of plastic mask, but the half that Jeff could see looked very mean indeed. Made Avon look like a choirboy.

"Are you Hopkirk?" growled Travis.

"No, I'm Randall."

Travis let go of him abruptly. Jeff heaved his shoulders and smoothed his sweater in an effort to restore a modicum of dignity. Travis walked into the living room, eyed Jeannie neutrally as she followed him and then turned back to Jeff.

"Is Hopkirk dead?" demanded Travis.

"Yes, he died a year ago."

"I really think you should change that (Deceased) to a larger type-face," remarked Marty.

"Damn!" Travis tossed the box he was carrying onto the floor and kicked it open. The box was full of something that looked like Plexiglas with some Lego pieces in it. Travis kicked it again and it skidded into a corner. "That blasted computer told me he would be alive if we came back to the first year of the Third Millennium!"

"2001 _is_ the first year of the new millennium," pointed out Jeannie, apparently undaunted by the bellicose biker.

Standing beside her, Marty rolled his eyes. "No one likes a maths geek, Jeannie."

"You're looking for Marty?" asked Jeannie. "Marty Hopkirk?"

"Yes. I've come back hundreds of years, and that damn machine --" Travis indicated the box on the floor "-- led me to the wrong year!"

Marty placed himself just beside Jeff, his whole expression positively exuding smugness. "Ah, see, I didn't really think anyone would go back hundreds of years in time just to look for _you_." Jeff gave him a dirty look.

" _Another_ one who thinks he's from the future?" exclaimed Jeannie, looking at Jeff. "What's going on here?"

"If you're really from the future," said Jeff to Travis. "Why have you come back? I mean, it's not that I'd say Marty and I were insignificant, but I can't really see why we'd be of interest to someone like you."

Travis didn't even answer. He seemed to have completely lost interest in Jeff and Jeannie. He picked up the box and placed a Plexiglas object about the size of a packet of cigarettes on top of it.

"Thank you!" said a voice that seemed to emanate from the box. "I was wondering when you would deign to let me speak again. And will you kindly refrain from tossing me around like some vulgar piece of junk! I am a highly sophisticated computer, with powers of crucial importance to your plans. I did not lead you to the wrong year. I brought you to the year specified: 'first year of the millennium'."

"A technicality," growled Travis. "You knew perfectly well that Hopkirk died in 2000, you worthless box."

"The point is moot as 2001 is the earliest date we can reach using the equation I calculated. You will have to come up with a different plan for Blake's destruction. Now kindly switch me off again, as I need to do some work."

"Temperamental thing, isn't it?" said Jeff conversationally. "Mind you, maybe it was confused by the date change. You see, a lot of computers had this bug thing. Strictly speaking, 2001 is the first year of the third millennium, since the year 1 was the first year of the first millennium. But a lot of people thought that the year 2000 was the first year of the twenty-first century, just because the numbers changed. And, um, some computers thought the same, even though last year was --"

Jeff stopped talking. Evidently not interested in his opinion about the Millennium Bug, Travis had punched him, laying him out flat on the floor. Jeannie seemed to hesitate, unsure whether to attack Travis or tend to Jeff. She chose the latter. The biker closed the computer's box and left with it, banging the front door behind him. Still dizzy from the punch, Jeff sat up groggily. Jeannie was crouching beside him, and Marty was also leaning over with something akin to concern on his face.

"Serves you right, you technophobe," said Marty once he was sure Jeff was all right. "That was the worst interpretation of the Millennium bug I've ever heard."

"Jesus, Jeff! Why on Earth did he hit you?" said Jeannie.

Jeff rubbed his chin. "No idea. People don't usually hit me for no reason. Maybe he's just stressed."

"Never mind why he hit you," exclaimed Marty. "He was looking for me! And he wanted me to be alive! How extraordinary."

"Yes, it really is extraordinary," agreed Jeff, still sitting on the floor. As he spoke, he suddenly smelled something. Something very much like burning... "The dinner!"

Turning around, he could see that the kitchen was full of smoke. Jeannie ran into the kitchen and turned off the burners. Jeff sighed. So much for his romantic evening.

"Maybe we should get a takeaway after all," he said hopefully, even though Marty was present.

"Maybe I should see what he's up to," said Jeannie, shaking her head. "You stay here, and I'll follow Travis."

"You what? No, Jeannie!" Jeff tried to get up, but he didn't feel too good, so he sat down again. Jeannie had already put on her coat.

"I'll let you know how I get on," she said as she left.

"Jeannie!" called Jeff. "Marty, get after her and make sure she doesn't get into trouble. I'll be right after you as soon as I can walk."

"Oh great," said the ghost with a huff of irritation. "I all but vanish when I'm away from you, and you want me to -- oh, all right." He rolled his eyes and disappeared with a sparkling flourish.

* * *

Marty followed Jeannie as she followed Travis. He had rather hoped she would lose track of the thug as soon as they got out into the street, but Jeannie's sleuthing talent was disappointingly accurate. She didn't lose sight of Travis once, and he never seemed to notice her presence. On the other hand, he did seem rather lost, so he kept stopping at street corners to consult his computer. That made it a lot easier for Jeannie to keep up with him.

As they moved further and further away from Jeff's flat, Marty could feel his form fluctuate and his powers weaken. He was only just strong enough to stay close to Jeannie. He was amazed when he suddenly realised where Travis was going. Marty could also see the realisation on Jeannie's face.

Travis was heading for the cemetery where Marty was buried.

Jeannie crouched near some bushes once they got there, trying to conceal herself while keeping an eye on Travis. The biker had reached Marty's grave and placed the computer on his gravestone. Just as he had done at Jeff's flat, Travis opened the box and placed a device on top of the computer. Marty assumed that the device was some kind of key enabling the computer to communicate.

The pair of them seemed to be engaged in an animated conversation. Marty tried to eavesdrop, but his form was so faint that he couldn't hear anything. He was at the very limit of his physical connection to Jeff; one metre further and he would vanish into Limbo.

Marty gave up and turned back towards Jeannie. As he watched, a gloved hand reached out from the bush behind and pulled her in. Panic-stricken, Marty reappeared where she had been and leaned into the bush. He found Jeannie in Avon's arms. She didn't look pleased.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"Keeping an eye on Travis," said Avon coldly, letting go of her. "What do you think _you're_ doing?"

"Keeping an eye on Travis," repeated Jeannie. "He came around to Jeff's place, apparently looking for Marty. Then he clobbered Jeff and left with your computer, so I thought I would follow him to see what he's up to."

Avon seemed to relax slightly. "I take it 'Jeff' is Randall and 'Marty', Hopkirk."

"Bit slow on the uptake, aren't we?" said Marty to no one in particular.

"And you're Randall's lover?" asked Avon seriously.

"What?!"

Much to Marty's relief, Jeannie looked both surprised and outraged. He wasn't really sure what her feelings for Jeff were, but he did so enjoy interrupting them when they were getting close. And so far, that seemed to have pretty much stopped them from getting close. Which reminded him...

"Hang on, Jeannie, what were you and Jeff up to before I arrived?" he asked.

"My relationship with Jeff is none of your business," said Jeannie haughtily, addressing Avon. "How would you feel if I asked you if you were having it off with... Blake, for instance?"

Avon glared at her. "Now there's a novel idea. My question had a purpose, Ms Hurst. Blake and I have been considering various reasons for Travis's presence here and why he seems so interested in your friends Randall and the late Hopkirk. One theory is that Randall might be the ancestor of one or more of our crew. I was merely wondering, if that were the case, whether you would be one of their ancestors as well."

"Now, that is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!" exclaimed Marty. "She might have a soft spot for Jeff, but she wouldn't reproduce with him!"

Jeannie stared at Avon in silence, evidently considering what he just said. But rather than enter on some big debate about the preposterous theory, she apparently decided to change the subject.

"Where is Blake anyway?"

"Playing the hero again." Avon poked his head out of the bushes. Marty followed suit. "He's planning to talk to Travis, to convince him of the error of his ways and get him to return our computer."

"Talk to him?" Jeannie also peered out at the graveyard, where Travis was still arguing with his computer. "Travis doesn't strike me as the type of person you can talk to."

"Yes, well, Blake never gives up trying. Here we go..."

Sure enough, Blake was walking towards Travis, approaching him from the opposite direction. This meant that while he was talking to Blake, Travis would have his back to Jeannie and Avon. Not a bad bit of planning, Marty thought.

"What do you think they're saying?" asked Jeannie.

"Things which will make no difference to Travis's plans," said Avon. "The best we can hope for is for Blake to find out what those plans are. That might give us half a chance of sorting this whole mess out."

Marty noticed that he had drawn his weapon and was aiming it at Travis's back. Unconcerned about the fate of the biker from the future, Marty decided it was time he got Jeff here. He was feeling seriously faint. He vanished and homed in on his living partner.

* * *

Blake approached Travis confidently. He was unarmed, secure in the knowledge that Avon would shoot Travis at the first sign of trouble. Of course, there was no reason to believe the first sign of trouble wouldn't be Travis simply shooting Blake. But based on past experience, Blake had a feeling he would be safe. For a while at least.

"Blake?" said Travis, clearly surprised. "How did you get here?"

"Do you really think Orac is the only computer in the universe that can achieve time travel?"

"No, I suppose not," said Travis. "It was already a surprise to find that time travel can be achieved at all."

Blake didn't think this was a good time for a discussion on the theory of time travel. "Travis, whatever you're planning, it isn't going to work," he said.

"It already has," said Travis with a sinister smile. "I haven't even put my plan into action yet, but I already know it will succeed. Our time period has changed, as your computer kindly found out for me. The _Liberator_ is disintegrating; still on the run, but losing ground fast as your incompetent crew tries to keep it going."

"My crew?" repeated Blake. "Ah, so that's what you're doing. Destroying my crew to weaken my position."

"I thought it would bring me more pleasure than to simply erase your existence," explained Travis. "It turns out that your computer is good at genealogy. It has found the ideal solution to completely change your circumstances."

"How can you be sure that Orac is telling the truth?"

"It might be powerful, but it is only a machine," said Travis.

"Hmm. You sound like Avon. No wonder Orac talks to you," said Blake with a smile. "What does all this have to do with Randall and Hopkirk?"

Travis shook his head. "You don't think I'm going to tell you, Blake. I'm not going to give you an opportunity to stop me." He raised his bionic left hand. "In fact, since you're here, I could just put an end to all this madness and kill you once and for all."

"What, and ruin all your fun? Especially after you've gone through the trouble of concocting your nefarious plans," exclaimed Blake with a laugh.

"Yes, I suppose you're right." Travis lowered his hand. "Besides, I'm sure one of your men is lurking in the bushes behind us. I wouldn't get to enjoy my victory for very long."

"You know it makes sense," said Blake reasonably. "Now why don't you give me Orac?"

"Because that would definitely spoil my fun."

Blake considered the situation for a moment. Then he made a grab for the computer. Travis anticipated the movement, wrestling Blake to the ground with a thud.

"BLAKE!"

As he fought off Travis, Blake could see Avon running towards them, accompanied by Jeannie Hurst. Even though he had cried out Blake's name, Avon's first action when he reached the grave was to seize Orac. Hurst, meanwhile, gave Travis a kick in the face. Blake had to admire the woman; she was built like a twig, but seemed to be afraid of nothing. Travis was undeterred. He punched Hurst in the stomach and as she reeled back, he seized Blake by the neck, pointing his modified fingers at the leader's head.

"Give me the computer," he growled.

"What are you going to do?" asked Hurst, obviously unaware of the danger. "Point him to death?"

"His hand is a cybernetic implant," explained Avon calmly. "It contains a very powerful weapon."

Blake heard Travis laugh behind him. "Thank you for the exposition," he said. "Now give me the computer or Blake is a dead man."

Avon looked down at Orac, indecision clear in his normally cool expression. Blake knew that without him, the _Liberator_ team could continue, perhaps under the leadership of Jenna or Cally. But without Orac, they would lose a good part of their advantage over the Federation.

However, there was no doubt in Blake's mind which option Avon would choose. Sure enough, the man tossed Orac onto the ground at Travis's feet.

Travis hesitated, and then let go of Blake, pushing him towards Avon and Hurst. Avon immediately raised his weapon, ready to shoot. Blake stopped him. After leaning down to get Orac, Travis pulled a device out of his bag and activated it. He vanished.

* * *

"Why did you stop me?" exclaimed Avon as soon as Randall and Hurst left them at their hotel room. "You've done this to me before, Blake. Why didn't you let me kill him while I had the chance?"

"It wasn't necessary," said Blake simply.

"Not _necessary_?"

Much to Avon's irritation, Blake ignored him. "This isn't bad," he said as he investigated the room Randall had booked for them.

The detective had turned up just after Travis disappeared, and only just mitigated his uselessness by finding somewhere for Blake and Avon to stay overnight. Not that Avon was sure why Blake wanted to stay in the first place. 

Blake lay out on one of the beds. "Not bad at all. Though I don't see why we have to share a room."

"I want to keep an eye on you, Blake." Avon sat down on the other bed. "There's something you're not telling me --as usual. For one thing, I'd like to know why we're staying here when Travis has already returned to our own time with Orac."

"We're staying here because Travis hasn't yet put his plan into action, which suggests that he will return. We need to stop him before he gets a chance to change history."

"I don't see why you've appointed yourself guardian of the timeline," said Avon. "In any case, I don't believe it's possible to change history. That would be too easy. Everyone would be at it, Servalan first among them."

Blake shrugged. "If it's all the same to you, I'd rather return to the reality I left. Not one where the _Liberator_ is worse off because of something Travis did. I don't want to take any chance on some metaphysical possibility that the timeline will repair itself."

"For that matter, who's to say Travis hasn't already changed history?" insisted Avon. "For all we know, he might never come back."

"Oh, he'll definitely be back, Avon," said Blake, looking rather pleased. "My struggle with Travis was not all in vain."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small transparent box. In spite of himself, Avon had to smile when he recognised it.

"Orac's activator."


	3. Chapter 3

**III.**

There were wolves pursuing him. Big, ugly things with gleaming white teeth and bloodshot eyes. They were catching up with him. He couldn't get away; there was a strong wind blowing in his face, drying out his eyes, taking away his breath, pushing him back...

Suddenly awake, Jeff opened his eyes.

"AH!"

He fell onto the floor with a shriek. Scrambling back into a sitting position, Jeff looked onto the bed and glared at the ghost laid out on it.

"Marty! Don't you ever do that again!"

"What, wake you up?" said Marty, all wide-eyed innocence. "You forgot to set your alarm last night."

Jeff rubbed his eyes with a sigh. "It's just another working day, Marty, I don't _have_ to get up at all. My appointment with Mrs Anselmo isn't until this afternoon. I certainly don't have to get up this early."

"Oh yes, you do, Jeff," said Marty, sitting up on the bed. "There are three maniacs from the future all competing to mess up the timeline, and you have to do something about it."

"Me?" Jeff yawned. He decided that Marty was unlikely to just go away if he asked him to, so he went over to his wardrobe. Hiding behind the door, he started to change out of his pyjamas. "Why me? I'm hardly a specialist on time travel and timelines. I don't even watch _Star Trek_."

"Well, let's face it, there isn't much _I_ can do," exclaimed Marty. "And I certainly don't trust Conk and Curly to save the world from an alternate timeline."

Jeff had only got as far as unbuttoning his pyjama top, but he peered around the door.

"What's all this business about timelines anyway? Do you know something about this that I don't?"

"Not much," said Marty with a shrug. "But our friend Easy Rider has it in for Curly. So he thought up some harebrained plan to come back into the past and do something. All I know is that it has something to do with me, and I want you to find out what."

"Don't you think I'm just a little bit out of my depth? After all, if these are people from the future, they must have some really advanced technology. Not to mention some pretty scary weapons."

Marty seemed unimpressed. "What, like those plastic dil...dingbats Blake and Avon carry around with them?"

"Dingbats?" repeated Jeff with a grin. "I think you were trying to say something else."

"Yes." Marty shrugged. "I keep forgetting this is a family show. The point is that I want you to find out what this bunch are up to. Is that really too much to ask? It isn't as if I've asked you any favours since I died."

"Oh, let's see now... you wanted me to investigate your death, then you wanted to possess me to have it off with Jeannie, I actually had to die for a moment to save you from Sidney Crabbe, and all the while you want me to keep believing in you to keep you in existence, even though it's playing havoc with my social life, and now--"

"I get the picture," said Marty dramatically. He stood up and raised his hand. "Very well, we'll let a bunch of nutters from the distant future jeopardise the very fabric of our lives, and never find out what they wanted to change in the first place."

"Marty..."

"As for your social life. What social life? I've always been willing to leave you alone when you were getting lucky, but you're not exactly a bleeding Casanova, are you? When was the last time you had a woman in here? Or in your apartment even? And Jeannie doesn't count; she's only taken pity on you because I'm not around."

"That's not the point," said Jeff ruefully. "It's a bit difficult to plan a date with anyone when _you're_ around. I keep having nightmares about you turning up at an inconvenient moment."

"But I just told you, I'm the very soul of discretion!"

"Right, so what are you doing in my bedroom when I'm trying to get dressed?"

Their conversation was interrupted as a slim woman in a green outfit abruptly materialised in front of them. She had a narrow face and curly brown hair that looked like a bad perm. Not many good hairdressers in the future, evidently. Her intense dark eyes flicked from Jeff to -- surprisingly -- Marty.

"Ah, you see," said Marty, pointing at her. "Your 'social life' is looking up already."

"Who are you?" asked the woman.

"I could ask you the same question, too," said Jeff, clutching his pyjama top to his bare chest. "Let me guess, you're a mate of Blake's."

"Yes, I am." She smiled quite sweetly and Jeff forgot about the bad perm. "I am Cally, from the planet Auron. If you have met Blake, then you must be Randolph and Hopkins."

"Well, Randall and Hopkirk to be precise," said Jeff with a chuckle.

"You are Hopkirk?" she asked Jeff.

"Um, no."

"You should really consider changing your name, Jeff," said Marty. "The general consensus of opinion seems to be that you look like a Hopkirk."

Cally stared at Marty, looking him over with curiosity. Jeff was unused to anyone else being able to see Marty, and he could tell that the ghost was equally amazed. 

"I'm Jeff Randall," said Jeff finally. "And this is, um, my partner Marty Hopkirk."

"Martin Hopkirk and Jeffrey Randall." Cally nodded, still fixing Marty. "But you are a spirit."

A slow, delighted smile spread over Marty's features. "So you really can see me. Now there's a turn up for the books. Well, it did happen before," he said thoughtfully, "but we won't go into that. Aside from Jeff, the only people who can usually see me are animals, children and morons."

"Evidently includes Aurons too," said Jeff. "Now would you two mind a lot if I got dressed before we continue this conversation?"

* * *

Avon looked up from the computer as the door to the agency opened. His hand automatically went to his weapon. He relaxed a little when Jeannie Hurst walked in.

"What are you doing here?"

"Is that a generic greeting in this time period, or merely something you reserve for me?" he asked.

Hurst's eyes widened in irritation, but then she shrugged.

"Good morning, then. I didn't expect to find you had broken into our office... again."

Avon peered at the circuit boards in front of him for a moment before answering. He then leaned back and put on his most disarming smile.

"We're growing quite fond of it actually. I especially like the decor." He waved a hand at the patterned wallpaper peeling off the walls. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some work to do."

"Hey, wait a minute," exclaimed Hurst. "What are you doing to my computer?"

"I'm reprogramming it."

"By poking at its hardware?" Hurst sounded dubious. "What kind of programming is that?"

Avon glared at her. He wished he had told her to go away sooner, rather than engage in this inane conversation.

"I wanted to find out more about computers in this time period. It's obviously very primitive, but I could perhaps use it to contact Orac if Travis returns. Can you tell me what this is?" he indicated a green metallic structure that seemed to take up most of the space in the casing.

"That's the CPU heat sink," Hurst informed him.

"You mean this computer needs something half the size of its box just to cool the processor?" Avon looked at the computer and then closed its lid. "I'm clearly wasting my time."

Hurst didn't answer. She picked up the machine and placed it back on the floor, before getting down on her hands and knees to reconnect it to all its peripheral parts. Avon looked down at her appreciatively. She was small and dainty, with short blonde hair and big brown eyes, but her sweet features were belied by her pugnacious nature. She was currently dressed almost entirely in black leather. Avon found the effect quite attractive.

"If you've broken it, I'll kill you," she said as she switched on the computer to check that it worked. She stayed kneeling on the floor until the machine initialised to her satisfaction. "Marty was very fond of this computer," she added.

"Ah yes, Martin Hopkirk," said Avon thoughtfully. "I've been meaning to ask. How did he die?"

Hurst turned off the computer and stood up. She turned her back on Avon and walked over to Randall's desk, pretending to rearrange the papers there. Finally, she looked at a picture on the wall; it represented Randall and a man whom Avon assumed was Hopkirk.

"Marty was murdered," she said finally. "Someone drove him off a cliff."

"Not a nice way to die," commented Avon awkwardly. He wondered if he should say something nice, since the young woman was obviously upset. But saying nice things didn't come naturally to him. "I take it he was a close friend of yours."

"You could say that," she said. "He was killed the day before our wedding."

Avon lowered his eyes. He remembered how it felt to lose someone. He had tried to forget, but he still remembered.

"It's hard to lose someone you love," he said.

He had meant it to come out as a platitude, but Hurst seemed to interpret it differently. She turned back towards him, her expression more amenable.

"You lost someone too, didn't you," she said in a soft voice.

Avon wasn't about to tell his life's story. He didn't want any pity, compassion or condolences. What happened to Anna was far in his past now, and none of Hurst's business.

"Does your computer have access to other computers?" he asked abruptly.

There was a pause before Hurst answered. "Yes. We have a dial-up Internet connection. Where's your friend Blake, by the way?"

"He saw a shop on the way and decided to purchase some food, Jeannie. If I may call you Jeannie."

"Can I call you by your first name?"

Avon tried to imagine anyone calling him 'Kerr' and failed. "No. Everyone calls me Avon."

"So that makes me Ms Hurst to you."

Avon smiled. He really liked this woman. He liked his women feminine and feisty; a combination which was disappointingly rare.

"Since we're discussing the whereabouts of our respective colleagues, maybe you can explain where your friend Randall has gone."

"Jeff will be in later," she explained. "He doesn't usually get in this early."

"A true professional," said Avon disdainfully.

"Jeff _is_ a professional!" protested Hurst. "He has taught me more about detective work in one year than Marty did in five. He really enjoys his job. He's dedicated, efficient, sensitive --"

"If 'lovable' and 'sweet' feature on that list, I think I have heard enough of it already," interrupted Avon. "Somehow, he doesn't seem your type."

"Oh, and I suppose you think _you're_ my type?" she asked.

Avon was about to think up a clever retort to that, but they were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening.

Jeff Randall walked in, accompanied by someone Avon hadn't expected to see.

"Cally!" he exclaimed, coming close to actually displaying pleasure at her presence.

Blake was the next person to walk through the door. He was carrying a bag full of some kind of cakes.

"Cally, what are you doing here? Has something happened?" he asked with concern.

"Yes. According to Zen, at least," she said. "Ever since you left, he has been monitoring the timeline for any disruptions. He detected several changes just after you left, and I decided to come back and warn you that Travis's plans are having some effects."

"Or maybe our mere presence in this time is what is causing the effects," said Avon gloomily. He had disliked this whole enterprise since the beginning.

"What effects has Zen detected?" asked Blake.

"A change of crew, apparently," answered Cally. "I don't remember us ever having a different team, but Zen seems to think that several people have changed. Perhaps your memory has been preserved. The crew we have now includes Jenna, Nova, Arco and Brenn."

"Real winners every one," commented Avon.

"I remember Nova and Arco," said Blake thoughtfully, "but they're both dead and were never on the _Liberator_. In my timeline, at least. I've never heard of a Brenn."

Cally nodded gravely. "So Zen was right; there have been changes since you left."

"It seems you were right to think Travis's plan was to weaken your position by giving you a pretty useless team, Blake," said Avon. "If that was the intention, it seems he has succeeded."

"Or he will succeed in the next few days," said Randall.

Cally looked at Avon, her brown eyes surveying him in a manner to which he was not accustomed.

"I do have one question," she said with a seductive smile. "Who are _you_?"

* * *

Travis could tell Servalan was not impressed. The Supreme Commander was reclining on her couch, but the expression on her small face was less than agreeable. She was different from the Servalan Travis had known in his own reality. Instead of one of her customary white dresses, she was wearing a scarlet catsuit. She glanced disdainfully at Travis when he explained his plan.

"I have seen you resort to some pretty strange schemes in your quest to capture Blake," she said finally. "But this is your most ludicrous effort to date. Orac should have been put to better use than travelling through time and chasing ghosts. Now you've lost its key, it's useless to us! Why didn't you just kill Blake while you had the chance?"

"The computer studied all the probabilities. This plan is the one which gives rise to the universe you live in right now. Believe me, if I don't modify the past, we won't have the _Liberator_ within such easy reach. Orac's key will be easily retrieved once Blake returns to our time. And think how much more satisfying it will be to capture the _Liberator_ and its crew, rather than simply murdering Blake offhand. At least that's what Orac said, and since it is so intelligent, I saw no reason to disbelieve it."

Servalan seemed dubious, but Travis could see she was also intrigued. "I must admit I don't quite understand how I could already be living in a parallel universe when you haven't yet put this fabulous plan into action."

"Because my fabulous plan took place several centuries ago. It's in my personal future, but everyone else's past."

The Supreme Commander stared at him for a moment and then shook her head.

"Very well, I will make available the resources you need. If nothing else, it will keep you busy while we track down the _Liberator_." She paused and then lifted an eyebrow in curiosity. "How can you be certain that the spirit of this man Hopkirk can be retrieved?"

"Orac found some references to Randall being haunted by the ghost of his partner. The matter was apparently investigated when he was an old man, and it was proved that a ghost was indeed visiting Randall at regular intervals."

"This in spite of the fact that the existence of ghosts is impossible," said Servalan.

"So is time travel, but that doesn't bother me," said Travis darkly. "The only thing that matters to me is getting my revenge against Blake."

Servalan stood up and walked to the window. "Yes. I suppose everyone needs a hobby."

* * *

Jeff took another cream cake and recapped the situation as he understood it. "So whatever Travis did, it has either erased Avon and this fellow Vila from existence, or made it so that they never made it onto your spaceship. Either way, Cally has never met either of them."

They were still all in the agency office. Avon sat at Marty's desk and Jeff at his own, with Jeannie nearby, while Cally and Blake had taken the remaining seats. Marty was standing next to Cally. The Auron kept smiling at the ghost; Jeff wondered what her colleagues and Jeannie would make of her casting sympathetic glances into mid-air. Still, the ghost was obviously enjoying the attention.

Blake glanced self-consciously at Avon before responding to Jeff's summary. "Travis evidently believes that my success in eluding him so far is down to Avon and Vila."

"I'm glad to know he recognises my talents," said Avon.

"And Vila's," Blake reminded him. Judging by Avon's expression, that wasn't something he wanted to be reminded of. "Who knows, perhaps you and he share a mutual ancestor."

For some reason, Avon looked at Jeff. The detective wondered if he was expected to say something.

"So we know the end result," he said, "but we still don't know how Travis achieved that result. You're the people from the future. Any theories?"

"Perhaps he killed a mutual ancestor of Avon and Vila's," suggested Jeannie. "If you go far enough back, everyone is related."

Avon nodded thoughtfully. "Or perhaps the effect is more subtle, like changing one event in history and then sitting back to watch the repercussions ripple through time. After all, killing one ancestor this far back in time would affect potentially billions of descendants."

"Unless he's really good at genealogy," said Cally.

"That's what Travis said," agreed Blake. "He mentioned that Orac was good at genealogy."

Cally smiled smugly. "So there you go, I have a great insight into the criminal mind."

Glancing at her, Jeff noticed that Marty was no longer hovering nearby. Maybe the ghost had been called back to Limbo for some reason. Cally took a cupcake and ate it with visible relish.

"Well, now that we've got some dots," said Avon, "all we need to do is connect them. And one dot that seems unconnected is Travis's interest in this agency."

"I don't think the ancestor theory works," said Jeff after a moment's reflection. "Travis seemed more interested in Marty than in me."

"And since Marty died without children," completed Jeannie, immediately understanding his point, "that means that out of the two of them, only Jeff is a possible ancestor for Vila and Avon. Travis had ample opportunity to kill Jeff yesterday, but all he did was ask when Marty died."

Cally seemed bored. "Well, do let's all sit around and talk about it," she said irritably. "Shouldn't we be out there looking for Travis?"

"Cally's right," said Avon, though he cast a suspicious look at the Auron. "We're not going to achieve anything by sitting in this office debating theoretical possibilities."

"It's a pity Orac didn't try to contact us while Travis was here," said Blake.

"Wait a minute." Avon looked at Jeannie. "Can your computer receive messages?"

"Yes," exclaimed Jeannie. She pushed past Avon and turned on Marty's PC. "If Orac is bright enough to know our real address, it must know what our e-mail address is. Maybe it sent us a message!"

Everyone gathered around to see what the computer was doing. Jeannie logged on and downloaded the mail. There was only one message.

"I see spam isn't the problem it used to be," muttered Cally. "Used be a hundred a day when I was around."

Startled, Jeff turned to stare at her. She winked at him.

"Marty!" he mouthed.

Fortunately, no one else was paying attention to the alien. Jeannie opened the e-mail.

"No sender address," she said. "But the message is addressed to Blake at our account. Judging by the routing information, it looks as if your computer accessed our ISP's POP server directly."

Whatever that meant. Jeff leaned closer to read the text of the message. It made his heart skip a beat.

"THE GHOST MUST DIE"


	4. Chapter 4

**IV.**

"I see Orac is being its usual helpful self," said Avon. He had been hoping the message would offer more than a riddle.

"So it doesn't mean anything to you?" asked Hurst.

Blake shook his head. "No, we don't know any ghosts."

"Thank goodness," interjected Avon.

"Well, at least we know Orac can contact you," said Hurst. "Orac and Travis can't have been in our time more than a couple of hours last night; perhaps your computer didn't have time to send anything more detailed. I'll configure our account to notify us of any more messages via Jeff's mobile. That way, we'll know as soon as Orac tries to contact you again."

Avon smiled at her appreciatively. He was surprised to find Cally giving him a dirty look.

"So, perhaps we should get some lunch," suggested Blake. "I only found this place that sells cakes, but perhaps there's a food shop somewhere nearby."

"There's a Tesco's just around the corner," said Hurst. "They do sandwiches. I'll take you there; I need to do some shopping too."

Blake followed her to the door, but Avon stayed where he was. "I think I'll pass on the shopping."

"I'll come with you," volunteered Cally as Blake and Hurst made their way out of the office.

"No you won't," said Randall, catching her arm.

Hurst and Blake were already too far away to hear this exchange, but it surprised Avon. Looking at Cally, he noticed that she was unusually pale.

"Cally, are you all right?" he asked.

She put her hand to her head in a manner Avon recognised all too well. He stood up and joined her.

"Bloody hell," she said, swaying into his arms.

Randall seemed to be seeing a completely different chain of events. He looked away from Cally and glowered.

"I hope you're satisfied, you lousy big lout!" he exclaimed. "Didn't Wyvern warn you about possessing people? Remember what happened to me?"

He paused, and then shook his head vigorously. "Christ, Marty, it doesn't matter what species she is. Possessions are bloody dangerous!"

Avon supported Cally and guided her into a chair. "I hate to ask, but who are you talking to, Randall?"

Before Randall could answer, Cally spoke.

"His partner Martin Hopkirk is a ghost," she said, pointing to the space beside Randall. "He just possessed me."

"Oh, really," said Avon dully, before her words sank in. "A ghost? Your partner, the man Travis has been looking for, is a _ghost_?"

Randall looked at him with wide eyes, unsure how to respond. He glanced to his side -- evidently getting some kind of message from the ghost. Avon involuntarily took a step back.

"Yes, Marty's a ghost," said Randall with a sigh. "Presumably the ghost in the message... um, he says he's already dead, though."

"Yes, I think we've established that."

Avon had a very bad feeling about this. He had never believed in ghosts. Alien spirits, yes, but not human beings who had died and become ghosts. There was a pause while Randall and Cally looked at the empty space. Cally seemed amused, but Randall rolled his eyes.

"He doesn't see why Orac thinks he needs to be killed again," he explained.

"I can't help feeling that I would be getting more out of this conversation if I could see and hear all the participants," said Avon. "Can't your partner manifest himself to _me_?"

Cally suddenly jumped in her chair.

"No! Marty!" exclaimed Randall.

"Oh, don't be such a big girl's blouse, Jeff," said Cally with a shrug. "This bird's a doddle to possess."

Avon took another step back. "I take it you're now 'Maahty'," he said, imitating Randall's accent. "I must admit this does put a different slant on things. How did you come to be a ghost?"

"I was killed," said Cally as if it was obvious. "So I came back to find out who murdered me. And I got stuck here."

"I'm the only one who can see him," explained Randall.

Avon eyed Cally suspiciously. He wondered what the ghost really looked like, and then decided he didn't want to know. This time-travelling adventure had taken a supernatural turn he didn't like. Avon looked around and his eyes fell on the photograph on the wall. 

"Does Jeannie Hurst know about this?" he asked.

"No. She tried to have me 'cured' when I told her," said Randall. "And since me being cured would consign Marty to oblivion for all eternity, we've decided to leave her out of this."

"I can see why," said Avon.

Cally looked him over disdainfully. "You're scared of me, aren't you?"

"I have learned to be cautious when faced with the unknown," said Avon calmly. He had backed up as far as Hopkirk's desk, so he decided it was time to take control of the situation. "Well, now we've established that you exist, do you have any theories as to why Travis would be interested in you?"

"Let's see," said Cally thoughtfully. "Well, no, I don't. I don't see why your friend the lunatic wanted to come back in time just to meet me. Unless he was planning to save my life or something. But he's a bit late for that."

Cally's speech patterns and attitude were clearly those of Hopkirk. Avon found the contrast with her usual demeanour disturbing.

"Very helpful," he sneered. "Well, it was a pleasure talking to you, Hopkirk. Perhaps you could release my friend now, since Randall seems to think your possessions are dangerous."

" _Now_ , Marty," said Randall.

Cally sighed and then fainted dead away. Avon crouched beside her chair, cradling her face with concern. She was pale and warm to the touch. It was a moment before her dark eyes fluttered open.

"Cally, how are you feeling?" asked Avon gently.

The Auron frowned and looked around, evidently disoriented. Then her eyes came to rest on Avon.

"Do you know you have incredibly long eyelashes?" she said, before seeming to recover. She frowned at the space beside Randall. "Martin Hopkirk, you are a difficult person to have in one's mind."

"Being haunted by him is no holiday either," said Randall with a grin. "Oh, shut up, Marty... Look, can I get you something, Cally, to make you feel better? I think I might have something to drink..." His voice trailed off as if he suddenly realised he didn't have anything to offer her.

"A strong drink would be good," she answered. "But nothing alcoholic. A vitamin drink perhaps?"

"Oh." Randall evidently had nothing of the sort. "I guess a cup of tea doesn't qualify. I could go out and get you a fruit juice or something." He looked up at the clock. "Actually, I need to go out anyway. I have an appointment with one of our clients this afternoon, and it's going to take forever to get there by bus."

"If you leave me at the shop, I'll purchase something suitable," offered Avon. He would normally have left Randall to run the errand and make himself late, but Cally did look very weak. Avon didn't want to trust her recovery entirely to the detective.

"Will you be all right on your own, Cally?" asked Randall.

The Auron nodded, so the two men left the agency.

* * *

"I'm sorry, you know," said Marty awkwardly, leaning over Cally. "I just thought it would be easier if I could talk to Avon directly."

Cally smiled at Marty indulgently. "And why did you possess me the first time?"

"I wanted a cupcake."

"I see." The alien laughed. "You must miss a lot from your mortal existence."

"You're telling me!" exclaimed Marty, pretending to sit on the arm of the chair. "In a way, it's harder when I'm down here, because I keep seeing all the things I used to have. I've lost most of my senses, you see. I can't touch, taste or smell anything. I can only see and hear. It's like being stuck in some kind of virtual reality. But I can see food and I remember how it tasted, or I look at objects and I remember what they felt like. I wish I could get those senses back. It wouldn't be so bad being an invisible ghost if I could go around enjoying things like I used to."

"All right," said Cally. "The next time you want to touch or taste something, let me know and I might let you share my body."

Marty looked her over with a lecherous grin. "I can think of better things I could be doing with it..." He sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "But I'll have to make do with innuendo instead. It's hard being a spirit, you know."

"At least you have your friend Randall to talk to."

"A little of him goes a long way," said Marty, rolling his eyes. "Believe me, when your only tether to the real world is a boring bloke whose idea of entertainment is a video and a takeaway, you really start yearning for some better company. I can meet all sorts of interesting people in the afterlife, but it's not the same."

"Surely it isn't that bad."

"No, but when you can only ever talk to one person, it gets tiresome. It's like I'm married to Jeff! Jeannie's the one I was supposed to marry. I wish I'd chosen to haunt her now, but at the time, I thought Jeff would do better finding my murderer. Him being a detective and all."

"You were going to marry Jeannie Hurst? She's very pretty. She must miss you."

"Yeah," said Marty gloomily. "And I miss her. You've no idea what torture it is to be around her and know that she can't see me. You're right; she's lovely. I always did like blondes, like Brigitte Bardot, Joanna Lumley, Ulrika Jonsson, Glynis Barber... I liked Glynis Barber. You know, she was in _Dempsey and Makepeace_... no, I don't suppose you do know. Anyway, I doubt Jeannie thinks about me very often these days."

As Marty spoke, he felt a sudden chill come over him. He remembered the old saying. _Someone is walking over your grave_. But he hadn't felt this way when Travis was pacing around his tombstone the previous night. Something else had to be wrong.

"Are you all right?" asked Cally, evidently noticing that his attention was elsewhere.

"Yes, I... I just need to check something out," he said, before disappearing to find out where the chill was coming from. If it turned out to be something dangerous, he could always retreat back to Limbo.

Marty transported himself to the landing outside the office door. Then before he knew what was happening, he was standing on the landing upstairs. It was as if something had dragged him there against his will. Travis was crouching on the floor, looking into some kind of high tech device. At least, Marty assumed it was high tech, since it came from the future, but it actually looked like a modified coffee pot.

"Aha," said Travis without raising his eyes from the machine. "Mister Hopkirk, I presume?"

Marty observed Travis suspiciously; there was no way the man could see him... unless, of course, that was what the machine was for. He tried to leave, but found that he couldn't.

"I know you're Hopkirk anyway," continued Travis. "I've just seen you talking to the Auron. It seems your wish is going to come true. And mine as well."

Travis flicked a switch on the device. Marty felt himself being pulled towards the machine, as if a strong vacuum cleaner had just been switched on. Before he could do anything, he was sucked into the box.

* * *

Jeannie watched as Blake carefully inspected a mango.

"I gather you don't get to see much fruit in the future," she said.

Blake shook his head. He smiled, his eyes creasing into invisibility in a way that Jeannie found charming. She liked Blake.

"No," he said. "We don't get much fruit. All the protein and vitamins are usually synthesised and formed into meal that is flavoured artificially. That's on Earth, at least. Very little grows there, and people live in domed complexes. Most plant and animal species are extinct."

"Sounds bleak," said Jeannie. "I guess those pessimistic science-fiction writers got it right after all. And this is the future you're trying to preserve?"

"Well, judging by what this Cally has told us, the alternative is actually worse. The _Liberator_ is probably the best chance for a better future in our own time. We can't let Travis undermine our efforts by tampering with our past."

"If you say so. I just want to know what this has to do with Jeff and Marty."

"You're quite protective of Jeff Randall, aren't you?" remarked Blake in a kind voice.

Jeannie smiled tenderly. "I sometimes think he needs protecting."

"Speak of the devil," said Blake, pointing behind her.

Jeannie turned to see Avon and Jeff just entering the supermarket. They hadn't noticed her and Blake yet. Avon stopped at the vegetable stand and picked up a cauliflower. Jeff grinned and spoke to him, perhaps explaining what it was. Avon put it back hastily, though his expression remained haughty and aloof.

"Avon doesn't look like someone who is easy to get on with," remarked Jeannie. "He's very cold."

"Oh, I don't know, you get used to him. He certainly keeps me on my toes. He misses nothing and lets me know exactly what he thinks... well, provided it's something negative."

"Not my idea of fun," said Jeannie unenthusiastically.

Her idea of fun had just caught sight of her and was waving from behind the potato stand. Jeff left Avon behind and trotted over to Jeannie, putting on a delighted expression, as if they hadn't seen each other for ages.

"Jeannie! Fancy meeting you here," he said unconvincingly. "Did you get everything you wanted?"

Jeannie looked into her basket. "Yes, I think I've got everything. Blake has picked out some sandwiches for himself and his friends. What are you two doing here?"

"Avon's looking for something Cally asked for," explained Jeff. Blake had wandered off to talk to Avon. "From the sound of things, it looks as if she wants some Lucozade or something. I said I'd drop him off here. Actually, I need to go and see Mrs Anselmo."

"Right." They stood and stared at each other for a moment.

He hesitated. She hesitated. Then she caught his lapel and leaned forward to kiss him.

"Hmm. Nice," he said in a low voice. "We should go to Tesco's more often."

Jeannie watched him as he walked off. "I'd take you anywhere if you'd just make up your mind and ask me out!"

* * *

Marty opened his eyes. All he could see was a white blur. He closed his eyes and opened them again. Same result.

"Now what?" he said to himself.

His mouth was dry and he had a headache. Just like the good old days when he used to wake up with a hangover every Saturday and Sunday. He shifted in the bed, feeling the cool material of the sheets against his naked skin. The air smelled stale and dry, like a room that hadn't been opened for years.

"Where the hell am I?"

"That is not your concern," said a woman's voice close by.

Marty looked in her direction. She was initially out of focus, but her features became clearer as she leaned closer. She was very pale and wore a kind of black domed headdress which completely concealed her hair. If she had any hair. There was something coldly clinical about the way she looked Marty over. She produced a flat disk similar to a nicotine patch and pressed it to Marty's neck. He thought she looked vaguely familiar.

"Hey, I know you, you're Glynis Barber!" exclaimed Marty as he lost consciousness.

* * *

Jeff answered the doorbell and grinned as Jeannie walked into his kitchen. She was dressed entirely in black leather, from her boots to her trousers and her jacket. The only touch of colour was the pink top under her jacket.

"Just can't keep away, can you?" he said teasingly.

"I can go if you like," she threatened. "But I've brought some food."

She lifted a plastic Tesco's bag onto the counter and showed him the contents. A bottle of wine, two chicken breasts, assorted vegetables, a packet of rice and a jar of Sharwood's Chinese sauce.

"What is this? _Ready, Steady, Cook_?" asked Jeff.

"Exactly. You're going to make us a meal with these ingredients."

Jeannie flashed a grin at him and walked into the living-room. She settled on the sofa.

"I wouldn't mind a glass of wine first," she said. "Then you can tell me about your meeting with Mrs Anselmo."

"Oh, nothing to report except a nice big cheque. Makes a change." Jeff set about opening the bottle of wine. His eyes fell on the bag Jeannie had brought. "You know, contrary to what you might think, I _can_ cook, Jeannie. I make a great hotpot. I can do real mashed potatoes, too."

"And Yorkshire puddings?"

"Ha-ha," he said dully. "Yes, I can do Yorkshire puddings too. But big ones. The real thing. Cooking's not difficult; it's just a question of timing." He paused as something occurred to him. "Marty was a good cook."

"Marty liked to show off his cooking skills," agreed Jeannie. "He could make a lamb biriyani or a coq au vin, but he didn't know how make a hotpot."

"Yeah, but a hotpot isn't exactly exciting, is it?"

Jeannie leaned on the back of the sofa and looked at him thoughtfully. "There is such a thing as too much excitement, Jeff."

"No chance of that with me," he said in a low voice that she probably couldn't hear.

Who was he kidding, he thought. Jeannie used to go out with Marty. Never a dull moment with Marty; there wasn't anything his partner wouldn't turn his hand to. Drawing, dancing, singing, cooking elaborate meals. No wonder he had charmed Jeannie off her feet. Marty had been large as life and twice as natural. Jeff felt he personally had more of the stature of a dormouse.

While Jeff was lost in his thoughts and still struggling with the bottle, Jeannie was inspecting the papers on his coffee table. Jeff uncorked the bottle and looked towards her when he heard her laugh. She showed him the photograph she had found.

"Oh, that," he said. "I found it down the back of the sofa. That's me back in Roman times when I still had some hair."

"Nice Seventies hairstyle too," she said with a chuckle. She looked up at him. "And what do you mean, when you had some hair? You still have plenty of hair, Jeff."

"Yes, but some time around 1980, it started migrating from the top of my head to the rest of my body."

Jeannie smiled teasingly. "Ah yes, I forgot you're an actual bona fide Baby Boomer."

"Thanks for making me feel my age," said Jeff, getting two glasses from the cupboard. "Anyway, Mrs Anselmo thinks I'm cute. She said so this afternoon."

"You _are_ cute, Jeff. It's that cocker spaniel look. Irresistible."

Jeff chuckled as he came over to join her with the wine and the glasses. He felt relaxed, more relaxed than he had in a long time. For one thing, he hadn't seen Marty all afternoon, and he couldn't help hoping that the ghost would stay away long enough for him to have a private talk with Jeannie.

"So I look like a cocker spaniel. A while ago, you said I looked like some kind of monkey. You never said what kind, mind you."

"Would Cornelius do?" Jeannie grinned mischievously. "I'm sure you could have done _The Planet Of The Apes_ without any makeup."

"Nice," he said, raising a finger at her. "Not very accurate, mind, but nice. Okay, anything else I look like?"

"Kevin Spacey."

"Kevin Spacey? Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Right, so I'm a middle-aged cross between a mutt, an ape and Kevin Spacey, who suffers from a hair-migration problem and whose life's ambition is to make the perfect hotpot." He poured Jeannie a glass of wine and handed it to her. "Will you go out with me?"

"Oh yes."

Unlikely as it seemed, he didn't doubt her sincerity. The expression on Jeannie's face was earnest and encouraging. Jeff still didn't understand why she was attracted to him, but then it was probably best not to ask.

They kissed. Then Jeff took the glass of wine out of her hand and kissed her again.


	5. Chapter 5

**V.**

Cally returned to her own time in the afternoon, after giving Blake and Avon a thorough description of the universe she had known all her life. There could be no doubt that Travis had dramatically changed history. They didn't see Randall again, which was just as well as far as Avon was concerned.

"So, Cally has returned to our own time... or her time, whatever it is," said Blake as he and Avon left the agency to return to their hotel. "Well, whatever Travis has done, it sounds as if it has had repercussions on the whole Federation. It isn't just our crew that was affected. Judging from what Cally told us, whole worlds have had their destinies changed."

"That's because Travis chose to come so far back in the past," said Avon. "If he had merely gone back fifty years, he might have managed to target the _Liberator_ crew alone. Though fifty years would already have been enough to change history. Several centuries is preposterous. I'm surprised he didn't accidentally wipe out the whole Federation."

"He has Orac's help," said Blake distractedly.

He stopped and leaned over a garden wall, reaching for a flowering bush. He pulled the nearest branch closer to smell one of its large pink flowers.

"Yes, Travis has Orac's help," said Avon loudly, trying to get Blake back on track.

"Hmm? Oh yes." Blake shook himself out of his reverie and they started down the street again. "It's possible that Orac pinpointed a specific set of circumstances which would get you and Vila off the _Liberator_ without affecting the core of the Federation. Travis probably wasn't interested in the consequences on some outer worlds."

"It's still a ridiculous plan," insisted Avon. "If he wanted to hurt you, he could have gone back a couple of years and shot you while your mind was still erased or something. He must know how dangerous any actions this far back in the past would be."

Blake shrugged and ran his hands down the trunk of a tree which was planted in the pavement. "Travis is insane."

"Oh, I think we can safely establish _that_ by counting the number of times he hasn't killed you when he got a chance."

"There has always been a good reason," said Blake.

"Yes. He hesitated. Believe me, if _I_ wanted to kill you, for instance, you would already be dead. This doesn't make sense, Blake."

"When does life ever make sense?"

"Well, I prefer it when life makes more sense than this."

Blake lifted a finger to silence him. He seemed to be watching a red spot on the tree trunk. Upon closer observation, the spot appeared to be moving.

"What is it?" asked Avon, unsure whether he should approach the thing or not.

"An insect," said Blake. He placed his finger in its path and the tiny creature obligingly walked onto it. "A _Coccinellida_ , I believe. Commonly known as a ladybird."

"And?"

"These creatures are extinct in our time."

"Yes, quite a few indigenous species on Earth were wiped out by the atomic holocaust," said Avon with a shrug. It was a historical fact which had never particularly bothered him. He watched Blake watching the tiny creature, amazed that the man could be so fascinated by such an insignificant being.

"Natural history has always been an interest of mine," said Blake thoughtfully. The insect suddenly spread its wings and flew off his finger. "I've often wondered what life on Earth would be like if more of the native species had survived."

"Blake..."

"Look at this world," continued Blake, indicating the street with a sweep of his hand. "Humans haven't yet mastered nature in this time. This city is teeming with wildlife; plants grow in the cracks of the pavement, birds nest on the rooftops, insects forage in the rooms and the parks and the streets." He pointed at the tree. "Even the vegetation humans have planted themselves is home to a million wild species. In this time, there is still a chance for a different future. One where humanity didn't destroy most of the wildlife on Earth. We could prevent the atomic holocaust, Avon."

"Blake, don't even think about it. We didn't come back in time in order to mess up the timeline even further. All our lives will be affected if you do anything that stupid."

"Do our lives really matter compared to the good we could do? We could save millions of species from extinction."

"Nothing short of exterminating the human race would do that."

Blake paused, observing Avon thoughtfully. Then he smiled slowly. "Ever the hopeless pessimist, Avon."

"Someone has to keep an eye on the hopeless optimists."

"I suppose that's one way of looking at it." Blake glanced at the tree and sighed. He turned his back on it and continued towards the hotel. "I sometimes wonder if you care about anything at all, Avon."

Avon watched Blake for a moment before following him. "You'd be amazed," he said in a low voice.

* * *

Jeff woke with a start. He lay in bed for a while, listening to the silence and trying to work out what had woken him up. Then he heard a sound. Someone was tampering with his front door. Immediately on the alert, Jeff slid silently out of bed and crept into the living-room.

The front door rattled again. Careful not to make any sound that might startle the would-be burglar, Jeff made his way into the kitchen and picked up the first potential weapon that came to hand. The burglar might be Travis, after all, and Jeff thought it would be better to capture him and call Blake than to frighten him away.

The lock finally gave in to the burglar's efforts. Jeff raised his weapon, and as soon as the door opened, he attacked.

"Ow! Ouch! Jeff, stop it," exclaimed the man as he fell to the floor. "Cut it out, Jeff, it's me!"

Startled as he recognised the voice, Jeff turned on the light.

"Marty?!?"

Marty rubbed his head and glared at the frying pan Jeff was holding.

"Bloody hell, Jeff, what is this -- _EastEnders_?"

"Marty?" Jeff leaned over and helped the man to his feet. He was amazed to feel his weight as he hoisted him up. "Marty, you're alive!"

"I know! Isn't this great?" exclaimed Marty. "Apparently, they can cure death in the future!"

Jeff doubted that very much. But there was no question; it was definitely Marty. He was wearing black clothes which didn't quite fit in with the 21st century style. That in itself was a bit of a shock; Jeff wasn't used to seeing Marty in anything else than white these days.

But the rest was the same. The height, the dark sleeked-back hair, sandy eyebrows, intense blue eyes. It was Marty just as Jeff had been seeing him for the past year, except in flesh and blood rather than ectoplasm.

"You wouldn't happen to have a drink?" asked the former ghost.

Jeff stared at him uncertainly for a moment, and then turned to the kitchen. "I don't have any beer, but I think there's some wine." He pulled that evening's bottle out of the rack.

"Trust you. Jeff, you are the only bloke I know who would open a bottle of wine, and then only drink half of it."

Marty went into the living-room and slowly picked his way towards the sofa. His steps seemed ill-assured. Jeff wondered if this was an after-effect of whatever had happened to him, or if he had already had a few drinks. It was a while before Marty collapsed on the sofa.

Jeff joined him with the wine and a couple of glasses. He poured out the glasses and handed one to Marty. The former ghost's elation seemed to have died out; he looked tired and frightened.

"Well, this is a turn up for the books," said Jeff. He gulped down most of his wine in one go.

"You're telling me!" Marty put his glass down and looked at his hands. "I'm having a very strange death."

"You always were peculiar."

Marty didn't answer. He ran his fingers over the wine glass, and then the bottle, and the coffee table, and the sofa, and his own clothes, like a blind man exploring new textures. Jeff watched him, unsure whether he should restart the conversation or leave Marty to his rediscovery of life.

"This is weird," said Marty finally. He drank the wine and closed his eyes with bliss. "Oh, Christ, Jeff. Humans are not designed to be ghosts. I've missed all this so much."

"I know. I know you have."

Marty opened his eyes again. He squinted at Jeff and then smiled. It was a pale copy of his usual mischievous grin.

"Tell me, Jeff. Why are you always half-naked when I drop in on you?"

Jeff was wearing only his pyjama bottom. "Marty, it's three in the morning. I was in bed."

"Oh. Sorry." Marty finished off his drink. "No wonder the pubs are closed. Actually, that's why I was trying to get in on the sly. I didn't want to wake you."

There was another pause. Marty filled up his glass again and then topped up Jeff's as well. They both drank in silence. Jeff was thinking about the last time he had seen Marty's body, for the identification at the morgue. There was no way he could have come back to life.

"Marty, what the hell happened to you?"

"I don't know," said Marty. He put on a falsely cheerful expression, as if being resurrected was no big deal. "One minute, I'm talking to Cally, telling her about My Life As A Ghost -- it'd make a great film, by the way -- then Travis turns up with some kind of machine straight out of _Ghostbusters_ , and sucks me in. Then I don't remember much, except for waking up in a white room. You know, like an alien abduction. Then I woke up in an alley just around the corner, all alive."

"Travis brought you back to life?" exclaimed Jeff with undisguised horror. "Marty, this is exactly what Orac was talking about in that message this morning. You're supposed to be dead."

"Well, thanks. I finally get a body back, and all you want is to kill me again. That's just typical of you, Jeff." Marty's hurt expression relaxed into a more sorrowful stance. "I suppose you're right. But what am I supposed to do? Commit suicide? I'm alive, Jeff," he said, almost pleadingly. "Really alive. This isn't me being a ghost who can touch things. I'm breathing, and my heart is beating. Jeff, I'm really alive!"

He held out his wrist as if inviting Jeff to check his pulse. "I don't want to die again," he said in a low voice.

"I know." Jeff put his hand on Marty's arm. "Look, Marty, whatever happens, we'll find a way to make it okay. You know, to keep you alive. Bugger Blake and his timeline."

Marty smiled and raised his glass. "Absolutely. I'll drink to that."

"Good to have you back," said Jeff, his voice still a little uncertain. They clinked glasses.

Jeff's heart sank as he heard the bedroom door open.

"Jeff?" He turned and saw Jeannie standing in the doorway. She was wearing his pyjama top. She paled visibly when she saw who was sitting on the couch. "Marty?!"

Marty was staring at her open-mouthed. He then stared at Jeff.

"This _is_ bloody _EastEnders._ Bloke dies, gets resurrected, and finds his fiancée has been shagging his best friend while he's been gone."

"Marty..."

"Shut it, you," said Marty, getting up. "Some friend!"

"Oh come on, Marty, what did you expect?" snapped Jeff. "You must have known. You'd have to be stupid..."

"Obviously." Marty stumbled across the room, heading for the exit. He angrily kicked a chair out of the way. "Oh, bollocks! I wish they'd resurrected me with my flaming glasses!"

Jeff didn't know whether to go after him or not. He didn't think it would do much good either way. Especially after his less-than-tactful remark about Marty's perspicacity. He stayed on the sofa and ran his hands over his face. "Oh, bugger," he muttered.

Jeannie was still standing in the bedroom doorway, visibly in shock. Then, all of a sudden, she ran out of the flat.

"Marty! Marty!" Jeff could hear her cries echoing in the stairwell.

There was a long silence. Jeff stared at the discarded wine glasses. This sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen. Bad enough that Marty should die and come back as a ghost. But now he was back as a living, breathing human being. And just when Jeff had finally sorted things out with Jeannie. How inconvenient.

Jeff berated himself for that selfish thought. He should be happy for his friend. Marty had always been too much in love with life to be content as a ghost. And now Marty had his wish; he was flesh and blood again. And everyone was miserable about it.

After a while, Jeannie came back alone.

"I can't really follow him dressed like this," she said with a timid smile. Jeff expected her to say something about the two of them, but she didn't. Marty's return seemed to have chased Jeff from her mind.

"I'm just going to get my clothes," she said, heading for the bedroom. She paused. "Jeff... That really was Marty, wasn't it?"

"It really was Marty," he said with a sad nod. "He's the ghost who has to die."

* * *

Servalan steepled her fingers and leaned back in her chair. She hadn't been impressed with his plan the last time Travis had been to see her, and he could tell she was even less impressed this time.

"So now that this ghost Hopewell --"

"Hopkirk."

She waved her hand. "Whatever. Now that the ghost is revived, you think you've created the universe I live in right now."

"Exactly," said Travis enthusiastically. "This isn't the universe I left when I first travelled into the past. I've definitely changed history."

"I still don't understand how this one man could be so important."

"Orac ran probabilities on all the known ancestry of the _Liberator_ 's crew, to find what changes would weaken Blake without too many repercussions on the Federation itself. I think the computer tapped into quantum realities or something; I just left it to it. Anyway, it concluded that if Martin Hopkirk didn't die in the year 2000, we would be living in this universe instead of the one I came from. I wasn't able to stop Hopkirk from dying, so I revived him instead. And it worked!"

Servalan frowned. "Hmm. I still find it hard to believe your harebrained plan actually changed history."

Travis thought more explanation would convince her. "Apparently, having Hopkirk live longer had an effect on his partner Randall's progeny. He's one of the ancestors of two of Blake's former crewmen, but more to the point, most of his descendants in my universe lived in the outer worlds. So changing his descendants didn't affect the Federation."

"Why not simply kill this man Randall?"

"According to Orac, simply killing off Randall so he had no children would have averted the atomic holocaust. And without that, no Federation."

"It's still an inordinately complicated plan just to exact petty revenge on Blake." Servalan looked at Travis keenly. "And if you're from another universe, what happened to the Travis I've known these past few years?"

"It's complicated to explain..."

"Try me."

"Well..." Travis wasn't sure he _could_ explain it. "When Orac came up with the plan, it said that we would effectively be replacing one reality with another. The reality I came from doesn't exist anymore, but because I was in the past when the timeline changed, my memory of the old reality was preserved. I suppose the new Travis was erased when he went back in time himself..." His voice trailed off weakly.

"And you replaced him when you came back?"

"Something like that."

Servalan looked down at her nails. "I have to tell you, Travis. A lot of people are upset by your time travelling. You've created a time loop which quite a few scientists have detected. They don't like time loops; apparently, they go against nature. But that's not our main problem right now. Our scientists have been working to replicate Orac's key, and so far they have failed miserably."

She stood up and turned her back on Travis, posing picturesquely in front of the starfield in her office window.

"I know you're the last person I should entrust this mission to, but my superiors are quite adamant that no more idiots should be allowed to mess around with the past. One is quite enough." She turned back to Travis. "We are not prepared to wait for Blake to come back from the 21st century. So now, I want to know what _you're_ going to do to get back Orac's key. And for goodness' sake, do kill Blake if you get the chance."

* * *

Jeannie walked up the stairs to the agency, her feet heavy and her heart strangely numb. Too many things had happened tonight. It was four in the morning, and she should really have been in bed. But she had to know for sure.

The door to the agency was ajar. It was really time they changed the lock; it was far too easy to pick. Jeannie ventured into the office and turned on the light.

The place was a mess. Papers had been thrown all over the floor; the chairs were overturned; the standard lamp was leaning against the door; and even the computer monitor was on its side at the foot of Marty's desk. Jeannie surveyed the devastation with horror.

After a moment, Marty raised his head from behind his desk and stared at her bleary-eyed.

"Excuse the mess," he said in a low voice. "I got a little frustrated... couldn't find any paperclips."

Jeannie couldn't think of anything intelligent to say. She fumbled in her bag.

"I went home and got your glasses."

"That might be why I couldn't find any paperclips," said Marty sheepishly.

Since he was still sitting on the floor behind his desk, Jeannie walked through the mess on the floor to hand him his glasses. He put them on and blinked gratefully.

"Hello Eric," said Jeannie automatically. That had been an old joke between them.

Marty smiled wanly. "Nice to know I still do a good Morecambe impression. I was afraid I'd just look like death warmed up. Me being that and everything. Mind you, I checked in the mirror. I do still look like myself."

"Marty, what happened? You died..."

"Oh, yes, you missed the middle bit, didn't you?" Marty indicated the upturned chair beside her. "If you'd like to pick up my piece of modern art there and turn it back into an ordinary office object, I'll tell you all about it."

Jeannie did as she was told, sitting in the chair once she had straightened it.

"Okay, as you know, I died a year ago. And I was definitely dead, but I came back as a ghost. Jeff was my 'chosen one'; the only person who could see me. I was completely invisible to everyone else. So I've been helping Jeff, getting him information he can't obtain himself, using my magic ghostly powers to solve cases, and generally giving him advice on how to live his life. I should have chosen you, really. It would have been more romantic, like that film _Ghost_ , you know? But instead the highlight of my haunting has been watching Jeff eating kebabs!"

Jeannie wasn't listening. "So all this time, you've been haunting Jeff?" She shook her head in disbelief. "No wonder he was behaving so strangely. And I suppose he could never tell me because he knew I wouldn't believe him. In fact, he did try to tell me once, but... Oh poor pet, what he must have gone through."

"Poor pet indeed!" Marty stood up and crossed his arms. "What about _me_? I'm the one who died!"

She looked up at him. "I know. I remember."

Jeannie lowered her eyes again and bit her lip. She did remember, all too clearly. The shock of losing the man she loved at the age of only thirty-eight. She had never expected to look into those blue eyes again, to listen to that soft Northern accent, to be once more in the presence of the man she had loved for five years of her life. She looked away.

"So Travis brought you back to life?" she asked, trying to sound matter-of-fact.

Marty approached and pulled a chair next to hers. "Yeah. He captured my ghost and evidently put it back into my body. Or a similar one." He looked at his hands. "No tattoo and no fillings, which rather suggests it's a replica. Not that my own body can be much to look at after a year in the ground. But then I'd rather not think about that. This one feels the same, which is good. It's fully functional, too." He grinned naughtily.

Jeannie closed her eyes. "This is... really weird. I... Marty, people who die normally stay dead."

"Yes, but then when was I one to do what people _normally_ do?"

She recognised the gusto in that declaration, and with the recognition came a pang of sorrow. She didn't need this. She didn't want Marty back in her life. Not now that she finally had a chance with Jeff.

"Besides," continued Marty. "You seem to have accepted that Blake and Avon are from the future readily enough. Me being resurrected isn't that much stranger."

"That's different. Time travel is science-fiction; it's improbable, but not impossible. This is just... not... possible." She shook her head. "Jesus, Marty, now I know how Pam felt in _Dallas_!"

" _Dallas_ , _EastEnders_." Marty shrugged. "It's definitely Soap Opera City tonight."

Jeannie glanced at Marty. He was gazing at her admiringly. She frowned and looked down at the floor.

"So, what was it like being a ghost?" she asked, putting on her disinterested persona again.

"Frustrating." Jeannie felt Marty's hand brush her cheek, guiding her to face him. "Absolute agony. Being able to see you and hear you, but unable to touch you or talk to you. Jeannie, you have no idea how much I've missed you."

She stared into those intense blue eyes and, for a moment, felt lost. But then she remembered Jeff and shook her head, pulling away abruptly.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't do this... this... _this_. You talking like that, and looking into my eyes as if nothing has changed! Everything has changed, Marty."

"Not for me, Jeannie," said Marty, taking her hands. "I love you as much as I did the day before our wedding."

Jeannie withdrew her hands from Marty's and stood up. She looked up at the plastic ducks above the mantelpiece and took a deep breath.

"Then I'm the one who has changed. You died, Marty. I buried you, I grieved, and now I've moved on with my life."

"With Jeff?"

"Yes, with Jeff."

"That jug-eared short-arse? You must be joking!"

Jeannie spun around. "Marty, these things happen. I loved you then, but now I love him. You're just going to have to accept it. I'm not going to jump into your arms just because you're alive again."

Marty got up and spread his hands grandly, smiling that maniacal smile of his. "Why not? It certainly beats me being dead! Unless you're interested in a bit of necrophilia, of course."

"Oh Marty," Jeannie wrinkled her nose in disgust. "You really haven't changed, have you?"

"No, I'm still the loveable rogue you used to love." Marty rubbed her arm affectionately. His smile turned impish. "Come on, Jeannie. You know you want to. And as to Jeff, I don't mind sharing you. We could have a _ménage à trois_ , like in that saucy French movie. What was it called?"

" _Jules et Jim_?"

"No, _Emmanuelle in the Bahamas_. Or something."

In spite of herself, Jeannie laughed. "Oh, Marty, you are just impossible."

"And you're beautiful." He stroked her hair, his expression serious. "And yes, I did hear what you said about Jeff. I didn't believe it, but I'll respect it. I wouldn't make a move on my best mate's girlfriend. Even if that didn't bother _him_ when he was making moves on his best friend's fiancée."

"Marty, you were dead."

"Okay, I'll give you that. Though as far as Jeff was concerned, I was still around. I mean, he spoke to me every day. But, well, I can't say I didn't see it coming. It was just a shock to have it arrive when I wasn't looking." He paused and then looked at her seriously. "Does he make you happy?" he asked.

Jeannie nodded. "Yes, he does."

"Okay, so I won't snog you breathless and shag you on the floor then," said Marty with a grin.

Jeannie laughed, but then became more serious as the full extent of the situation came back to her.

"Oh Marty. If only you hadn't... died..." Jeannie couldn't think of the right words to express her confused feelings. "I loved you so much. You've no idea how much I missed you... But now I have Jeff and I... I love him and..."

She bit her lip and closed her eyes. She didn't need this; she didn't want to get all emotional. She tried to look away, to think of other things, she told herself she was just getting upset because she was so tired, but nothing could stop the tears from forming. Jeannie let out an involuntary sob.

Marty gently brushed a tear off her cheek. Then he hugged her as she wept in earnest. She sobbed gratefully into the coarse material of the black tunic he was wearing.

"Oh, Jeannie," he murmured. "Who would have thought two clowns like us could make you cry?"


	6. Chapter 6

**VI.**

Avon let himself into the Randall and Hopkirk agency. He wanted to check the computer, to see if Travis had come back into the past to retrieve Orac's key. Not that there was any reason to believe that Orac would take the initiative and send them another message.

As he walked into the office, he was surprised to find a stranger on all fours, picking papers up off the floor. The man was wearing a Federation suit. Avon drew his weapon and was about to fire when he noticed that the man was also wearing a rather silly pair of glasses. No one in the Federation wore glasses. Avon hesitated.

"Oh, hullo, Avon," said the stranger familiarly. "I'm just tidying up. I'll be right with you."

Then the man noticed Avon's weapon. He sat up and lifted his hands in fear.

"Hey, I know you want me dead, but can't I have just one day alive first?"

Avon stared at the man. "Do I know you?"

The stranger swallowed nervously. "We talked... I mean, I'm... Oh, I was possessing Cally at the time. That's why you don't recognise me."

He spoke with the same accent as Randall. Avon looked at the picture on the wall and then back at the man kneeling on the floor. "Hopkirk?"

"The man himself," said Hopkirk with a very nervous smile. He looked terrified. "I used to wear contacts."

Since he didn't know what "contacts" were, Avon didn't see the relevance of the last statement. But he now realised why Hopkirk looked so scared.

"You're the ghost. And you're alive even though you're supposed to be dead."

"Travis seems to have revived me in a different body, a clone or something," said Hopkirk, shuffling away from Avon on his knees. "That's evidently what Travis came back to do. He was probably hoping to stop me from dying in the first place, but then had to change his plan when he found I was already dead."

"So that's the change Travis made," said Avon thoughtfully. "I still don't see the point."

"I don't know." Hopkirk lowered his hands gingerly and frowned in concentration. "But, well, maybe it's something to do with Jeff and Jeannie. They're not going to be too comfortable with me hanging around. Maybe it messes up their plans to have kids or something... Just a suggestion. But in that case, you see, I can stay alive, and just not interfere with them. That way, I won't change history."

"Hmm." Avon smiled. "Or I could just kill you now and make _sure_ you won't change history."

Hopkirk immediately backed up to cower by his desk. "Oh no, please don't do that!"

Avon wondered how two pathetic beings like Randall and Hopkirk had ever managed to run a detective agency. Even more of a mystery was Jean Hurst's fascination with the pair of them. On the other hand, Hopkirk's theory made some sense.

Avon heard the front door opening behind him and lowered his weapon a fraction. If it was Hurst, he didn't want her to think he was about the murder her fiancé in cold blood.

As it turned out, the new arrival was Randall.

"Hiya Jeff," said Hopkirk.

Randall ignored him. He was holding his mobile phone. "Avon, I just got a message from your computer. Travis is back in town."

* * *

Marty could tell that Jeff was reluctant to talk to him. In fact, they didn't exchange a single word as he and Avon followed Jeff downstairs. Jeannie was waiting for them in her car.

"Where are we going?" asked Avon. 

"Your hotel, to pick up Blake," explained Jeff as he got into the passenger seat. "I tried to call him when I saw the message, but he didn't answer. So I rang Jeannie and got her to pick me up."

Marty and Avon got into the back and Jeannie drove off.

"What did Orac's message say this time?" asked Avon.

Jeff took out the mobile phone and peered at it for a long time, pressing various buttons but not seeming to get anywhere. Marty leaned over the back of the seat to see what he was doing. Finally, he snatched the phone from Jeff's incompetent hands and brought up the message for Avon to read.

"'Travis is in 2001'," read Avon. "Orac obviously isn't in a loquacious mood these days."

He handed the phone back to Marty, who said, "I suppose we couldn't really expect Orac to tell us _where_ Travis is in 2001."

"Wherever he is right now," said Jeannie, "we do know one thing. He's looking for Orac's activator and..."

"...that means the first place he'll want to look is probably your hotel room," completed Jeff.

Marty was tempted to make some smart remark about couples who finish off each other's sentences. But he felt self-conscious and uncomfortable, weighed down by his all-too-visible physical presence. He decided not to say anything.

"Here we are," said Jeannie as she drew up in front of the hotel.

Avon got out of the car. He pulled his weapon out of its holster, oblivious to the stares of people in the street. "I'll go in alone. If Travis is in there, I'll do better without any distractions."

"Good idea," said Jeff enthusiastically. "We'll wait for you here."

"Absolutely," said Marty.

"I'll come with you," said Jeannie, starting to get out of the car.

"No you won't," said Jeff and Marty in chorus.

Jeannie stayed in the car and pouted. Avon put on his meanest expression and entered the hotel.

* * *

Blake had just come out of the shower when he heard a noise at the door. Immediately on the alert, he retrieved his weapon and watched as the doorknob turned. The door was locked, but Blake was prepared. Even if he was only wearing a towel wrapped around his waist.

There was a zap at the door as the person on the other side attacked the knob with a more powerful tool. The lock gave way and the door opened.

Travis and Blake faced each other, both with weapons drawn.

"Don't think I'll miss this opportunity, Blake," said Travis finally. "The Federation wants Orac. To hell with the plan, I'll kill you and get the activator. This time, you won't escape."

Then he lowered his weapon arm and fell forward onto his face. Avon was standing behind him in the corridor, his weapon drawn. He picked up Orac's box, which Travis had dropped in the entrance. Avon glanced at Travis's motionless body on the floor before looking at Blake.

"Get dressed, Blake," he said. "It's time we left."

* * *

There was a silence in the car after Avon went into the hotel. Marty shifted uncomfortably in the back seat. He wished Jeff would talk to him. They hadn't parted on good terms the previous night, and there were a lot of things Marty wanted to talk about. He decided to speak first.

"I see Middlesborough lost one-nil last night," was the first thing that came to mind.

Jeff turned and frowned at him in mock irritation. "It's just a temporary setback. And can I have my phone back now?"

Marty tossed the phone at him. Now that he knew Jeff was speaking to him, he felt much better. He looked at Jeff and Jeannie with avuncular affection.

"You know, I don't mind you two being together." He lifted his hand as Jeannie was about to say something. "No, seriously. I've had a think about it, and I think you're right. I've been dead a while; Jeannie, you've moved on; Jeff, you've seized your chance. It's okay, really. I was a bit upset yesterday, but I'm cool with it now."

He'd had several hours after Jeannie left the previous night to think up this magnanimous little speech. His former fiancée had made her feelings clear, after all, and Marty didn't want to stand in the way of his best friend's happiness. He was prepared to be self-sacrificing just as long as he was allowed to stay alive.

"Well, that's very big of you," said Jeff lightly. But he looked tenderly at Jeannie, and Marty knew he was grateful.

Jeannie reached out and squeezed Marty's hand. "I'm really glad you're alive, Marty. I've missed you."

"We've both missed you," added Jeff. "Having you as a ghost just wasn't the same."

All this cloying sentimentality was interrupted when Avon and Blake came out of the hotel. Seeing the two rebels from the future, Marty was suddenly reminded of the reasons for his resurrection. It also reminded him that he wasn't supposed to be alive. His destiny had been to die in the year 2000, driven off a cliff by an insane artist.

"We've got Orac," said Blake. "We're going back to our time."

"You're forgetting something, Blake," said Avon. "We also need to reset the timeline."

They both looked at Marty. He seriously considered jumping out of the car and running away.

"What do you mean?" asked Jeff aggressively.

"Your friend here is the cause of the alternate universe that Cally described," said Avon, waving his weapon at Marty. "There's only one way to fix the timeline. We have to find a way to undo what Travis did."

Marty took one look at Avon and leapt out of the convertible.

"Marty!" screamed Jeannie.

At first, he didn't understand why she was shouting at him for running away from Avon. But looking up the street as he crossed it, he suddenly understood. Something very large and bright red was speeding towards him. Marty just had time to read the front of the vehicle. '133 Tooting Broadway' was the last thought in his mind when the bus hit him.

* * *

"You bloody bastards!" shouted Jeff as he ran over to Marty.

His partner was lying in the middle of the road, peaceful except for the expanding pool of blood around his head. His glasses had fallen off in the impact; his eyes were closed, his lips pursed, his face a ghostly white. Jeff touched his neck and found no pulse. He felt sick.

"Marty..." he heard Jeannie whisper. "Oh, Marty."

She was kneeling beside him, stroking Marty's forehead and short dark hair. Jeff put his arms around her and kissed a tear off her cheek.

"I'm sorry," said Blake.

"Sorry?" repeated Jeff angrily, glaring up at him. "You bastards killed him!"

Avon came over to join them, carrying Orac. There was regret in his usual cold expression when he looked down at Marty.

"It seems fate took the decision out of our hands," he commented, before checking his weapon. He smiled wryly. "I wouldn't have killed him anyway. This weapon is set to stun."

He suddenly looked at Blake. "Travis!"

"He'll be long gone by now," said Blake, shaking his head. "Now we have Orac, we should go home."

"Yes, do let's go," muttered Avon. "Though I don't know what you're calling 'home'."

He activated his wrist device; Blake followed suit and both of them vanished. A very puzzled and very upset bus driver came to join Jeff and Jeannie.

"I didn't see him. I swear I didn't see him. Oh, blimey, please tell me he isn't dead. I've called an ambulance, it'll be here in a minute. And what happened to that other pair? They just vanished into thin air. How did they do that? What's going on here? Why did this guy just walk out in front of me? I didn't see him until it was too late..."

Jeff tuned him out as he held the weeping Jeannie. He felt rather like crying too. "So much for Blake and his bloody timeline," he murmured.

"They never even paid us," said Jeannie.

A small crowd had gathered around. Passers-by and bus passengers had assembled, drawn irresistibly to the spectacle of a tragedy which wasn't theirs. A cool breeze blew down the street. Jeff could hear the distant siren of an approaching ambulance.

"I don't flaming believe this!" he heard someone say.

No one else seemed to hear the exclamation. Surprised, Jeff looked up. He couldn't suppress a grin of pure delight when he saw the white-clad figure beside him. "Marty!"

The ghost ignored him, looking instead at his body sprawled out on the street. "Bloody hell, Jeff. To die once is bad luck. But twice is just downright _careless_!"


	7. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

"Jeff? Jeff?"

Jeannie's voice broke into Jeff's sleep and he roused himself, slowly lifting his head off his desk. He picked off a paperclip which had stuck to his cheek.

"Oh, hello Jeannie," he said groggily. "I must have dropped off."

"You were fast asleep and snoring," she said, leaning on the filing cabinet behind his desk. "I hope you were having sweet dreams."

"I was having a strange dream, as a matter of fact," said Jeff, turning his chair towards her. "Marty was in it, and you, and..."

"The Yellow Brick Road?" suggested Jeannie with a grin.

"No." Jeff scratched his head. "I was... Never mind. I can't even remember what the dream was about now. Lots of wishful thinking, I think." He paused as a couple of images from the dream flashed in his mind. "For one thing, Marty seemed to be alive..."

"I never remember my dreams," said Jeannie. She didn't seem to have heard the last bit. "Cup of tea?"

"Hmm, yes please. Might wake me up." 

Another image from the dream came to mind and Jeff grinned. Maybe that was a wishful thought he should work on. He went to join Jeannie in the reception room.

"Jeannie..."

"Yes?" She smiled at him brightly.

No point procrastinating. "I was wondering if you'd like to come out to... well, go out somewhere at some point. Um, with me, that is."

"I thought you'd never ask!" she laughed.

Encouraged, Jeff slid his arms around her. She seemed rather pleased, so he kissed her as well. Who said dreams never came true?

"What kept you so long?" she asked.

Jeff paused and then decided it was too complicated to explain. "Stupidity, mainly."

* * *

"Hey, welcome back!" exclaimed Vila as Blake and Avon materialised on the teleport pad. "So, how was the 21st century?"

"Primitive," said Avon.

"Interesting," said Blake. "I understand you lot have been through a couple of parallel universes since we've been gone."

Jenna shrugged. "Zen just announced that the timeline has been restored, but we don't remember anything happening. As far as we can tell, nothing has changed since you left to go after Travis."

Avon decided he had better things to do than stand about and converse. He looked around the teleport room suspiciously, searching for any subtle differences that might indicate that the timeline wasn't completely reset.

"I'd better get Orac to check that this really is the reality we came from," he said finally. 

"Yes, do," said Blake. "I'd also be interested to know what happened to Randall and Hurst after we left."

Avon glanced disdainfully at Vila. "Clearly, they went on to reproduce as they were supposed to."

He picked up Orac and headed for the flight deck. On the way, he pondered Hopkirk's existence, and tried to imagine what it would be like to be brought back to life only to die a few hours later. Upon reflection, he decided he would rather not know. Avon felt a pang of regret at being the unwitting artisan of the detective's death, but it was quickly dissipated as he set to work with Orac.

It was little more than an hour before Orac and Avon were satisfied that the reality they were in was identical to the one they had left. Meanwhile, Blake had given the rest of the crew a thorough briefing on the trip.

"You mean I didn't even exist in the universe Travis created?" exclaimed Vila.

Overhearing him, Avon came to join the others. "According to Orac, Travis wanted as many of the _Liberator_ 's crew to be eliminated as possible. The machine is as stubborn as ever, but I get the impression that interfering with Randall's love life in order to eliminate _me_ was Orac's idea of a joke."

Jenna laughed. "I can't imagine what it has against you."

"Surely Orac could have found another way of erasing you both, without going so far back into the past," said Cally.

"No doubt," said Avon. "But Orac was feeling lazy, and merely picked the first alternate reality it could detect where the Federation still existed and we did not. It didn't even bother to find out whether the entire crew could be wiped out. The time travel method it gave Travis is pretty limited as well."

Blake put on a grave expression. "Hmm. I wonder how often it has given us the laziest option."

"I clearly need to do some work on it to make it a bit more helpful."

"You're always saying that, and it always gets the better of you," said Vila with a chuckle. "Still, at least it gives me some satisfaction to know you were obliterated along with me, _cousin_."

"What a misfortune to lose you both!" said Jenna with a mischievous smile. 

Cally also joined in her mirth. "No wonder that alternate universe was in such a bad shape!"

Avon looked at her and half smiled as she caught his eye. He remembered the alternate Cally, who had admired his long eyelashes. He wondered if the "real" Cally had ever had similar thoughts about him. He doubted he would ever find out. There were more important matters to worry about. Avon looked at Blake.

"Did you find out what happened to Randall and his girlfriend, then?" asked Vila.

"Yes. It seems they lived happily ever after. There's no record of Hopkirk's second death, by the way," said Avon, addressing Blake. "And the reference Orac originally found concerning Randall being haunted in his old age is still there, so it seems our friend Hopkirk went back to being a ghost. To all intents and purposes, history was restored to its former state."

"A happy ending, then," said Jenna brightly.

Cally seemed more thoughtful. "For everyone except the ghost."

* * *

Marty sighed and ran his fingers over Jeannie's face on the TV screen. He was suspended horizontally in Wyvern's living-room, watching the real lives of Jeff and Jeannie on Earth, and wishing he wasn't confined to his death in the afterlife.

"How many times can you erase people's memories, Wyvern?" he asked in his best bored teenager voice.

"There is no limit to men's ability to forget," said Wyvern philosophically.

He was scribbling away on a parchment. Marty wondered what the hell he was doing; it wasn't real parchment, it wasn't a real pen, and none of this was real. It was just the illusion which lost souls created to alleviate the boredom of being dead.

"Do not regret anything, Marty," said Wyvern as if he was reading the ghost's mind. "You must let go of your past life. And you must also learn to let go of your friends' memories of you. Think of the pain they would have felt at losing you twice."

"Yeah. Never mind how I feel, dying twice like that." Marty watched Jeff and Jeannie having some inane conversation about the shape of teabags. "I suppose you're right, though. They still have a life to live. I just have to get used to the idea that I'm meant to be dead. I'm beginning to get the message."

He pointed at the television set to make it disappear. Wyvern appeared beside him. "You will learn to let go, Marty. Believe me, it will get easier."

"Great," said Marty dourly. "I can't wait."


End file.
